CIHM 
Microfiche 
Series 
(i\Aonographs) 


ICMH 

Collection  de 
microfiches 
(monographles) 


Canadian  Instituta  for  Hiitorical  Microraproductiona  /  Inatitut  Canadian  da  microraproductions  hiatoriquaa 


995 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes  /  Notes  technique  et  bibliographiques 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  t-sst  original 
copy  available  for  fiinning.  Features  of  this  copy  which 
may  be  bibliographically  unique,  which  may  alter  any  of 
the  images  in  the  reproduction,  or  which  may 
significantly  change  the  usual  method  of  filming  are 
checked  below. 


0^ 


Coloured  covers  / 
Couverture  de  couleur 

Covers  damaged  / 
Couverture  endommduee 


r~]      Covers  restored  and/or  laminated  / 
Couverture  restuuree  ef  ou  pelliculee 

I     I      Cover  title  missing  /  Le  litre  de  couverture  manque 

I     [      Coloured  maps  /  Cartes  geographiques  en  couleur 

[^    Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)  / 

Encie  c'e  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 

r^  Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations  / 


i:^ 


Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 


I     I      Bound  wKh  other  material  / 

ReliS  avec  d'autres  documents 


D 


Only  edition  available  / 
Seule  edition  disponible 

Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion 
along  interior  margin  /  La  reliure  serree  peut 
causer  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la  distorsion  le  long  de 
la  marge  intdrieure. 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restorations  may  appear 
within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these  have 
been  omitted  from  filming  /  II  se  peut  que  ceitaines 
pages  blanches  ajouttes  tors  d'une  restauration 
apparaissent  dans  le  texte,  mais,  torsque  cela  6tait 
passible,  oes  pages  n'ont  pas  «te  film^es. 


L'Institut  a  microfilme  le  meilleur  examplaire  qu'il  lui  a 
6t6  possible  de  se  procurer  I  es  details  de  cet  exem- 
plaire  qui  sont  peut-6tre  uniques  du  point  de  vue  bibli- 
ographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier  une  image  reproduite, 
ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une  modifications  dans  la  meth- 
ode  normale  de  filmage  sont  indiqu6s  ci-dessous. 

r~|      Coloured  pages/ Pages  de  couleur 

I     I      Pages  damaged/ Pages endommagees 

r~j      Pages  restored  and/or  laminated  / 
Pages  restaurtes  et/ou  pellraulees 

[^     Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed  / 
Pages  dScolorfes,  tachettes  ou  piquees 

I     I      Pages  detached/ Pages  detach^es 

rp^    Showthrough  /  Transparence 

r^      Quality  of  print  varies  / 

Quality  inegale  de  I'impression 

I     I      Includes  supplementary  material  / 

Comprend  du  materiel  supptementaire 

I  I  Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
—  slips,  tissues,  etc.,  have  been  relilmed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  Image  /  Les  pages 
totalement  ou  partiellement  obscurcies  par  un 
feuillet  d'errata,  une  pelure,  etc.,  ont  ete  film^es 
a  nouveau  de  fapon  a  obtenir  la  meilleure 
image  possible. 

I  I  Opposing  pages  with  varying  colouration  or 
discolourations  are  filmed  twice  to  ensure  the 
best  possible  image  /  Les  pages  s'opposant 
ayant  des  colorations  variables  ou  des  decol- 
orations sont  filmtes  deux  fois  afin  d'obtenir  la 
meilleur  image  possible. 


B 


Addittonal  comments  / 
Commentaires  suppl^mentaires: 


Various  pagination. 


Thi<  ittm  it  filmad  at  the  rwhictian  ratio  chackad  ImIow/ 

Ce  docuimnt  ist  film*  au  taux  de  reduction  indiqua  ei-danoin 

'OX  14X  18X 


rr 


22X 


20X 


Th*  copy  tilmad  h«r«  hat  b«*n  raproduead  thankt 
10  th*  ganarosity  a(: 

National  Library  of  Canada 


L'axamplaira  fUmt  fut  raproduit  grica  t  la 
g4n4roaiU  da: 

Blbliothiqua  natlonale  du  Canada 


Tha  imagaa  appaaring  hara  ara  tha  baat  quality 
poaalbia  eonaidaring  tha  condition  and  lagiblllty 
o(  tha  original  copy  and  in  kaaping  with  tha 
filming  contract  apaciflcaiiona. 


La*  Imaga*  luivantai  ont  txt  roproduitas  avac  la 
plua  grand  lotn,  compta  tanu  da  la  condition  at 
da  la  nattat*  da  Taxamplaira  filmi,  at  an 
cenfermit*  avac  laa  condition*  du  contrat  da 
fllmaga. 


Original  eopia*  In  printad  papar  covar*  ara  fllmad 
baginning  with  tha  front  covar  and  anding  on 
tha  laat  paga  with  a  printad  or  illuatratad  impraa- 
(ion,  or  tha  back  covar  whan  appropriate.  All 
othar  original  copies  ara  filmad  baginning  on  tha 
firat  paga  with  a  printad  or  illuatratad  impraa- 
aion.  and  anding  on  tha  laat  paga  with  a  printad 
or  Illuatratad  impraaaion. 


Laa  aaamplalraa  originaux  dont  la  couvartura  an 
papiar  aat  imprimaa  sont  film**  an  eommancani 
par  la  pramiar  plat  at  an  tarminant  loit  par  la 
darniAra  paga  qui  comporta  una  amprainia 
d'Impraaaion  ou  d'illuatration,  soit  par  la  lacond 
plat,  talon  I*  caa.  Toua  la*  autra*  axamplairas 
orlginaux  (ont  film**  *n  commancant  par  la 
prami4ra  paga  qui  comporta  una  amprainta 
d'Impraaaion  ou  d'illuatration  at  an  tarminant  par 
la  darnlAra  paga  qui  comporta  una  talia 
amprainta. 


Tha  laat  racordad  frama  on  aach  microfiche 
shall  conuin  tha  symbol  —^  Imaaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  tha  symbol  V  (moaning  "END"), 
whichavar  appilaa. 

Map*.  Plata*,  charts,  ate.  may  ba  filmad  at 
diflarant  raduetion  ratio*.  Thosa  too  larga  to  ba 
antiraly  includad  in  ana  axpoaura  ara  filmad 
baginning  in  tha  uppar  Isft  hand  eornar,  laft  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  aa  many  framaa  aa 
raquirad.  Tha  following  diagrama  lllustrata  tha 
mathod: 


Un  das  symbolaa  suivant*  ipparaitra  sur  la 
darnlAra  imaga  da  chaqua  microficha.  talon  la 
caa:  la  symbols  ^^  signifia  "A  SUIVRE",  la 
aymbole  ▼  signifia  "FIN". 

Las  cartaa.  planchaa.  tablaaux.  ate.  pauvant  itra 
film**  k  da*  taux  da  rMuction  diff*ranis. 
Lorsqua  la  document  aat  trap  grand  pour  itra 
raproduit  an  un  saul  clich*.  11  ast  filmt  i  partir 
da  I'angia  sup4riaur  gaucha,  da  gaucha  i  droita, 
at  da  haut  an  baa,  an  pranant  la  nombra 
d'Imagaa  nicaaaaira.  Laa  diagrammas  auivants 
lllustrant  la  mOthoda. 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

fMOOCOPY   RiSOLUTION   IBT   CHA«T 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


1.0    !£i^  1^ 


_^  APPLIED  INA^GE    In 

^^  1653   Eost    Moln    SIreel 

STJ  Rochester.   New   York         14609        USA 

'■^=  (716)    *82  -  0300  -  Phone 

^=  (716)   288-  5989  -  Fox 


-h-^- 


WAYWARD  WINIFRED. 


WAYWARD  WINIFRED. 


BY 

ANNA  T.  SADLIER, 

AUTHOR  OP 


M  Su«onn-  «' IVoodvUUr  -Mary  Tracy- s  Fortune,"     : he  MysterioHS 
Doorway,''  "Pauline  Ar^htr,"  "The  TalUman,'   etc..  etc 


WW  YORK,  aNCINNATr,  CHICAGO: 

BENZIGER    BROTHERS, 

Printers  to  the  Holy  Apostolit  See. 

•905- 


C0I>YRIGHT,     1905,    BY   BeNZIGER   BboTHERS. 


Ou 


1  r 


;>  .  a 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  I.       , 

A  Fust  Meeting ?AO« 

7 

.      ^     „  CHAPTER  11. 

At  the  CasUe 

14 

CHAPTER  in. 

Winifred  Asks  Questions 

*3 

CHAPTER  IV. 

A  Singular  Figure 

*9 

CHAPTER  V. 
A  Second  Visit  to  the  Castle 

The  Schoolnuster 

45 

^     ^                                       CHAPTER  Vn. 
The  Old  Castle 

55 

w  v_^.    n.  CHAPTER  Vin. 

Winifred's  Treasuns 

63 

A  »,      ,  CHAPTER  IX. 

A  Moonlight  Expedition 

70 

CHAPTER  X. 

A  Visit  to  the  Schoolmaster 

78 

TK    cu    ,  CHAPTER  XI. 

1  he  bchoohnaster's  Tale 

86 

_,     _     ,                                 CHAPTER  XII. 
the  Scboolnuuter's  Secret 

~       „.  CHAPTER  XIII. 

Two  Visits 

I02 

„       „  CHAPTER  XIV. 

How  Father  Owen  Won  the  Day 

no 


CHAPTER  XV.  MGK 

The  Cave  in  the  Mountains ny 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
In  the  Capital 126 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
Arrival  in  New  York i^c 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
An  Unexpected  Meeting 143 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
Winifred  Goes  Sight-seeing ici 

CHAPTER  XX. 
Another  Unexpected  Meeting , icg 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
A  Mystery  Solved 166 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
At  the  Convent lyQ 

CHAPTER  XXin. 
Winifred  Tells  her  Name 185 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
Letters  at  Last 191 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
Home  Again 301 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 
Roderick  Returns,  and  All's  WeU  that  Ends  Well 212 


WAYWARD  WINIFRED. 


CHAPTER  I. 

A   FIRST    MEETING. 

Perhaps  some  reader  may  know  the  Glen  of  the  Dargle. 
No  boys  or  girls  may  know  it,  but  perchance  their  grandsires 
may  tell  them  of  a  mountain  stream  which  threads  its  way 
through  rugged  hills  till  it  falls  over  a  precipice  and  winds 
onward  through  a  glen  of  unspeakable  loveliness.  They  may 
remember  the  ravine  shut  in  on  either  side  by  hills,  covered 
with  gigantic  trees,  some  of  which  meet  across  it,  forming  a 
natural  bridge. 

Well,  it  was  upon  that  bridge  that  I  saw— at  first  with 
deep  amazement,  then  with  fear  and  trembling— the  slender, 
graceful  figure,  the  almost  eerie  loveliness  of  Wayward 
Winifred.  How  she  had  reached  her  dangerous  position 
was  clear  enough;  for  her  feet  were  like  the  mountain  goat, 
and  her  figure  wonderfully  lithe  and  active.  I  stood  and 
gazed  at  her,  afraid  to  speak  lest  she  should  falf  from  the 
dizzy  height  She  looked  back  at  me  with  clear  brown  eyes, 
and  spoke  in  a  voice  that  held  just  a  hint  of  the  Dublin 
accent  to  give  it  sweetness. 

"Are  you  the  lady  from  America?" 
I  answered  that  I  was,  and  a  long  pause  ensued.     The 
child  was  evidently  studying  me,  and  I  in  my  turn  put  a 
question : 


8  A  FIRST  MEETING. 

"How  on  earth,  child,  did  you  get  up  there?  And  don't 
you  know  that  any  moment  you  might  conie  tumbling  down 
into  the  water  below?" 

"  The  water  wouldn't  harm  me  if  I  did,"  Winifred  replied, 
looking  down  into  the  clear  depths;  "and  it  knows  me  well. 
I  come  here  every  day,  unless  there  be  a  storm." 

"Is  your  mother  aware  of  so  dangerous  a  proceeding?" 
I  asked  with  some  stemi.ess. 

A  strange  look  passed  over  the  girl's  face,  and  she 
answered  with  a  little  laugh,  half  merry,  half  wistful: 

"Ah I  then,  don't  you  know?  I'm  the  orphan  from  the 
castle." 

"From  the  castle?"  I  repeated.  I  began  to  think  that 
this  creature,  after  all,  was  a  spirit,  such  as  I  had  been  told 
lived  in  the  glens  and  streams  of  fairy-haunted  Ireland. 
"  Yes,"  said  she,  "  I  am  from  the  castle." 
"From  Powerscourt?"  I  suggestpd;  supposing,  of  course, 
that  she  meant  the  great  mansion  which  all  visitors  to  the 
Dargle  felt  bound  to  see. 

"From  Powerscourt!"  cried  she,  with  contempt  in  her 
voice.  "  Oh,  it's  easy  to  see  you  are  from  America !  Why, 
the  castle  I  live  in  was  built  hundreds  of  years  before  there 
was  any  Powerscourt  at  all." 

I  was  again  struck  dumb  by  this  assurance.  What  castle 
could  she  mean?  I  knew  of  none  in  the  neighborhooc,  and 
yet  I  had  been  studying  the  latest  guidebook  with  the 
closest  attention. 

"  If  you  come  with  me  some  day,"  she  said,  "  I  will  show 
you  my  ca^Je,  and  granny  will  be  very  glad  to  see  you." 

She  spoke  with  a  grand  air,  as  though  she  were,  indeed, 
a  young  princess  inviting  me  to  visit  her  ancestral  home. 
"Where  is  the  castle?"  I  inquired. 


A  FIRST  MEETING.  p 

"Where  is  the  castle?"  she  repeated,  as  if  i„  bewilder- 
ment.  'Well,  it  is  up,  up  in  the  hills.  Perhaps  you  haven't 
any  hills  in  America?" 

I  assured  her  that  we  had. 

"Well,"  she  declared,  in  the  same  lofty  way,  "if  you 
know  how  to  climb  hills,  and  don't  mind  if  the  road  is  steep. 
1  U  take  you  there  some  time." 

"To-morrow?"  I  suggested. 

T,..  ",^°;  *°-"'°"°'^  I'"!  going  away  off  to  the  Phoul-a- 
rhooka. 

"Where   is   that?" 
"Miles  away  from  here." 
"Are  you  going  alone?" 

"I'm  going  with  some  one,"  she  answered,  with  her 
clear,  musical  laugh;  "but  I  won't  tell  you  who" 

"I  have  not  asked,"  I  said,  provoked  a  little  by  her  cool- 
ness. I  assure  you,  dear  child,  I  have  no  wish  to  force 
your  confidence." 

"It's  some  one  we  don't  talk  much  about,"  she  said,  «o<l- 
dmg  her  head  sagaciously.  "Granny  says  that  there  are 
people  whom  it's  best  not  to  meddle  with." 

"And  yet  you  are  going  to  this  place  with  the  outlandish 
name  m  such  company?"  I  said,  almost  involuntarily. 
She  drew  herself  up. 

"  Oh,  that  is  very  different! "  she  said.  "When  I  am  with 
this  person  I  am  in  very  good  company;  and  who  so  well 
as  he  can  tell  n.e  of  the  Phoul-a-Phooka  and  all  those  other 
thmgs  I  want  to  hear?" 

"  You  are  a  strange  child,"  I  remarked. 
She  looked  at  me,  surprised  and  half  offended 
"How  am  I  strange?"  she  demanded. 
"I  mean  different  from  others." 


'0  A  FIRST  MEETING. 

An  expression  almost  of  sadness  crossed  her  face. 

"  I  am  alone,  you  see,"  she  said ;  "  and  I  live  up  at  the 
castle." 

The  explanation  was  a  pathetic  one,  and  I  observed  the 
girl  with  greater  interest  than  ever. 

"  I  should  like  to  be  friends  with  you,"  I  declared. 

"  I  do  not  often  make  friends  of  strangers,"  she  said, 
with  some  return  of  her  former  lofty  manner— "but,  yes,  I 
think  I  like  yon." 

"  Very  well;  there  shall  be  a  compact  between  us  to  like 
each  other,"  I  replied.  "And  the  first  fruits  of  our  agree- 
ment shall  be  to  arrange  what  day  I  may  go  with  you  to  the 
castle  and  see  your — relative." 

Something  in  my  speech  amused  her,  and  she  laughed 
merrily. 

"Poor  old  granny!"  she  said.  "You  will  love  her  at 
first  sight." 

"The  gift  is  evidently  in  the  family,"  I  answered,  "of 
making  people  love  them  at  first  sight." 

"In  the  family?"  she  repeated  again,  with  that  look  of 
drollery  upon  her  face  which  Lud  almost  upset  my  own 
gravity.  Never  mind:  you  shall  come  and  see  for  your.self, 
two  days  from  now,  when  I  get  home  from  Phoul-a-Phooka." 

She  slipped  down  as  she  spoke  from  her  perilous  perch 
and  landed  safely  on  the  opposite  shore,  becoming  at  once 
embowered  in  greenness,  a  very  goddess  of  the  woods.  She 
made  a  graceful  gesture  of  farewell  and  turned  away,  light 
as  a  young  fawn. 

I  stood  spellbound,  watching  the  path  by  which  she  had 
disappeared.  Curiosity  was  aroused  within  me,  and  I  felt 
an  uncommon  attraction  for  this  being  who  seemed  of  a  dif- 
ferent mould  from  those  of  common  clay.    I  Tell  to  dreaming 


^  FIRST  MliUriNG.  „ 

of  her  as  I  walked  home  througrh  those  exquisite  scenes  of 
rare  and  mournful  loveliness.    The  dark  story  of  Erin  seemed 
told  in  her  hills  and  streams.    I  was  also  anxious  to  discover 
what  was  the  Phoul-a-Phooka,  and  who  might  be  the  mys- 
terious companion  of  her  journey  to  that  unknown   region. 
I  seemed  to  tread,  indeed,  on  enchanted  ground;  and  1 
could  hardly  believe  that  I  was  the  same  being  who  a  month 
before    had    been    walking    down    Uroadway,    stopping    to 
admire  the  wonderful   products   of  the  century's   genius   in 
Tiffany's  windows,  idly  surveying  the  crowds  of  passers-by, 
and  jostling  my  way  past  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel.     How- 
ever, I  had  to  keep  all  my  speculations  to  myself  and  wait 
for  that  visit  to  the  castle,  to  which  I  began  to  look  forward 
with  the  greatest  eagerness.    Could  the  castle  itself  be  a  mere 
myth,  the  creation  of  a  sensitive  imagination?    On  that  point, 
at  least,  I  determined  to  satisfy  my  curiosity  as  soon  as  aii 
opportunity   occurred. 

I  found  the  landlord  of  the  inn  alone  that  evening,  his 
labors  done  for  the  day,  pipe  in  mouth,  smoking  on  a  bench 
beside  the  door.  He  was  a  somewhat  taciturn  man,  less 
loquacious  than  most  of  his  race  and  station,  and  the  sub- 
ject,^ in  some  way,  did  not  seem  to  commend  itself  to  him. 

"The  castle?    To  be  sure,  there's  a  castle  up  there  bevant. 
.  A  mighty  fine  ould  place  in  former  times." 

"But  to  whom  does  it  belong  now?" 

H«  looked  uneasy. 

"Who  is  the  owner?  Why,  that  would  be  hard  to  tell, 
though  I  suppose  it's  Miss  Winifred  herself." 

"  Is  she,  then,  of  noble  birth  ?"   I  asked. 

"  Oh,  it's  not  easy  to  say !  "  he  replied,  evasively.  "  Some 
say  she  is,  and  more  say  she  isn't." 

Here  was  a  mystery  with  a  vengeance. 


ta 


A  FIRST  MEETING. 


"  Perhaps  you  can  tell  me,  at  least,  what  is  the  Phoul-a- 
Phooka?" 

The  landlord  gave  me  a  half-startled  look. 

"  The  blessin'  of  God  be  about  us !  "  he  ejaculated,  piously. 
I' I  wonder  now,  ma'am  dear,  why  you  would  care  to  be 
inquirin'  into  things  of  the  sort." 

"But  what  sort  of  thing  is  it?"  I  persisted.  "  Some- 
thmg,  I  am  sure,  which  we  do  not  have  in  America,  where 
we  claim  to  have  so  much.  Our  steam-whistles  and  the  roar 
of  our  factories  have  driven  from  us  what  Ireland  has  kept 
— her  legends  and  her  poetry." 

The  man  did  not  seem  to  relish  this  style  of  conversa- 
tion, or,  perhaps,  to  understand  it;  for  he  answered  somewhat 
shortly : 

"The  Phoul-a-Phooka  is  a  wild  horse,  the  devil  himself 
tak:n  that  shape;  and  woe  to  uny  one  whom  he  gets  upon 
his  back ! " 

"  Oh,  it  can't  be  to  see  a  wild  horse  that  this  child  is 
going!"  I  remonstrated. 

"No,  ma'am;  'tis  to  a  wild,  solitary  spot,  with  a  power 
of  waterfalls  in  it,"  replied  the  landlord.  "  But  it  gets  its 
name  from  the  beast  I'm  tellin'  you  of." 

"Oh I  is  that  it?"  I  replied. 

"Yes  ma'am;  'twas  there  that  the  horse  leaped  a  preci- 
pice with  the  tailor  that  had  about  him  the  priest's  soutane 
he  was  after  makin'.  The  horse  felt  it  like  a  stone's  weight 
on  his  back,  and  down  he  went  with  the  tailor." 

The  man  told  the  story  with  some  hesitation,  as  if  not 
seeming  to  believe  in  it,  and  yet  reluctant  to  express  dis- 
belief openly. 

"It's  a  beautiful  spot,  though,  ma'am;  that's  what  it  is. 
And  mebbe  you'd  be  goin'  to  see  it  yourself  some  of  these  days." 


A  FIRST  MEETING. 


>3 


"Very  likely  I  shall,"  I  assented;  "but  first  I  want  to 
see  the  old  castle  and  the  woman  and  child  who  live  there." 

"  It's  a  good  bit  of  a  walk,"  said  the  landlord ;  "  but  the 
weather  is  fine,  so  I  suppose  you  won't  mind  that" 

"  No,  I  won't  mind  it,"  I  declared—"  not  in  the  least,  and 
Winifred  is  coming  for  me  in  a  day  or  two." 

"And  I  hope  she  won't  be  a  Will-o'-the-wisp  to  you, 
ma'am,  and  leave  you  in  some  bog  or  another." 

He  spoke  with  coisiderable  asperity,  and  but  that  he 
was  just  then  called  away  I  should  have  questioned  him 
further;  for  I  judged  from  his  manner  that  he  had  suffered 
from  some  of  the  pranks  of  my  new  acquaintance.  I  smiled 
to  myself  as  I  wondered  if  the  girl  had  been  leading  him  a 
dance  over  mountain  and  moor,  or  what  was  the  nature  of 
the  particular  trick  she  had  played  upon  the  stony-visaged 
landlord. 


AT  THE  CASTLE. 


CHAPTER   II. 


AT  THE   CASTLE. 

It  was  a  lovely  May  morning  when  the  landlord  of  the 
inn  came  to  tell  me  that  Wayward  Winifred  was  waiting. 

"Why  do  they  call  her  by  that  name?"  I  asked  of  him. 

"  Oh,  then,  sure,  ma'am,  it's  just  because  of  her  whimsical 
ways !  You  might  as  well  try  to  stick  a  pin  through  the  down 
of  a  thistle  or  take  a  feather  from  a  swallow  on  the  wing, 
as  to  know  what  the  crathur  will  be  doin'  next."  He  looked 
all  round  as  if  he  feared  that  the  walls  might  have  ears ;  and, 
seeming  in  a  more  communicative  mood  than  before,  he  con- 
tinued his  narrative:  "There's  them  that  says,"  he  whis- 
pered, coming  close  to  me,  "that  all's  not  right  with  her; 
and  it's  as  well  you  should  know  it  before  you  go  oflF  to  the 
castle  with  her.  She  knows  too  much  for  one  of  her  years, 
and  she's  that  wild  and  whimsical,  there's  no  stoppin'  her 
whichever  way  she  goes.  And  she  keeps  queer  company 
sometimes." 

"  But  who  were  her  parents  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  asked  me  that  before,  ma'am,  but  it's  a  long 
story.  Some  will  have  it  that  she's  not  of  mortal  stock  at 
all.  But,  to  be  sure,  that's  the  old  people,  with  their  queer 
consates,"  he  added,  somewhat  shamefacedly. 

"  Who  takes  care  of  her  ?  " 

"  Who  ?  Weil,  as  for  that,  she  mostly  takes  care  of  her- 
self," replied  the  landlord,  with  a  gesture  expressive  of  the 
hopelessness  of  the  situation. 

"  But  she  can't  live  alone.  She  has,  I  believe,  a  grand- 
mother." 


/<r   THE  CASTLE. 


■S 


The  landlui'd  gave  me  a  queer  look. 
"Oh,  she  lives  with  Granny  Mcehatr,  as  you'll  »ee  when 
you  go  there!     But  she's  gettin'  resti      Iwlow.     I  hear  her 
feet  patterin'  round,  and  it's  haid  to  tell  what  she  might  be 
at,  so  I'd  better  be  goin'  down." 

"Say  I'm  just  comiftg!"  I  called  after  the  man;  and, 
descending  presently,  looked  out  of  doors,  and  saw,  sitting 
in  the  branches  of  a  lilac  tree,  the  same  figure  that  I  had 
beheld  upon  the  bough  which  stretched  over  the  ravine.  The 
landlord,  honest  man,  was  addressing  the  girl,  with  some 
anxiety,  from  the  window  below. 

"Come  down  here,  now— that's  a  good  child!— or  you'll 
be  gettin'  a  fall,  so  you  ^vill;  and  a  nasty  cut  on  your  head 
for  the  doctor  to  sew  up— and  breakin'  my  fence  into  the 
bargain." 

The  child  laughed,  that  selfsame  musical  laugh  which 
rang  out  upon  the  air  like  the  sound  of  bells,  and  she  shook 
the  tree  in  her  mirth,  and  sent  a  shower  of  the  fragrant  lilac 
blossoms  down  upon  my  head. 

"  I  ask  you  pardon !  "  she  said,  with  a  shade  of  gravity 
crossing  her  face.  "  I  didn't  mean  to  send  any  down  upon 
your  bonnet,  for  a  beautiful  bonnet  it  is." 

She  eyed  as  she  spoke  the  article  of  headgear  which  I 
had  purchased  at  a  shop  on  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York.  I 
was  surprised  that  she  should  have  perceived  anv  beauty  in 
the  bonnet,  it  being  quiet  in  shape  and  neutral  in  tint,  to  suit 
the  exigencies  of  travel. 

When  she  had  descended  to  the  ground,  she  picked  up 
a  cloak  from  under  the  tree  and  wrapped  herself  in  it.  It 
was  one  of  those  peasant's  cloaks  of  blue  cloth,  enveloping 
the  figure  from  head  to  foot,  which,  as  articles  of  dress,  are 
fast  disappearing  from  Ireland;  but  which  were  both  becom- 


10 


MT  THE  CASTLE. 


injf  and  pictureique.    Winifred  did  not,  however,  put  up  tfie 
hood;   but  showed  her  delicately  formed  head,  with  iti  rich. 
'        hair,  cut  »hort,  and  curling  in  ringlet*  about  her  fore- 
head and  neck,  and  forming  a  fascinating  tangle  upon  the  top 
"Shall  we  go?"  I  asked  Winifred. 
"  Yes."  she  answered ;  "  if  you  are  ready." 
And  so  we  went.    Our  course,  at  first,  lay  through  the 
lanes  strewn  with  wild  flowers,  primroses  and  early  violets 
with  the  hedgerows  white  with  bloom.     The  balmy  air  of 
May,  fresher  and  purer  in  Ireland,  it  seems,  than  elsewhere, 
gently  stirred  the  tender  green  of  the  foliage.     The   lark 
and  the  thrush  sang  together  a  morning  hymn.    Soon,  how- 
ever, the  scenery  became  wilder  and   wilder;  rocky  passes 
frowned   upon   us.  and   we  looked  down   into  ravines  that 
might  well  make  the  unwary  tremble. 

Up  the  .steep  path  I  followed  where  the  girt  led  with  foot 
as  sure  as  a  mountain  goat.     She  spoke  from  time  to  time 
m  her  soft.  liquid  accent.    Perhaps  it  was  part  of  her  way- 
wardness to  show  herself  more  shy  and  reserved  than  I  had 
yet  seen  her.  answering  my  questions  in  monosyllables,  and 
briefly  bidding  me  to  beware  of  dangerous  places.    At  last 
m  a  winding  of  the  road,  we  came  upon  one  of  those  feudal* 
keeps  which  marked  the  military  character  of  bygone  chiefs 
Its  walls  were  still  intact,  and  a  great  donjor  reared  its  head 
to  the  sky.  in  defiance  of  time. 

We  could  not  enter  by  the  iron  gates,  still  vainly  guard- 
mg  the  ruin;  for  the  path  beyond  them  was  choked  with 
weeds  and  overgrown  with  grass.  The  child  led  me  instead 
through  a  narrow  pathway,  and  a  low  door  in  the  thickest 
part  of  the  wall,  which  had  survived  all  attacks  of  the  ele- 
ments, and  was,  perhaps,  of  a  later  erection.  Walls  and  roof 
were  alike  uninjured;  but  I  h«d  a  strange  feeling  of  pass- 


AT   THE  CASTLE. 

was  hfe  and  reality  and  domestic  comfort.  By  the  fie  L 
an  od  woman,  rect  and  motionless;  and  tho^^h  her  fa" 
was  turned  toward  us,  she  gave  no  sign  of  peLiv ine  me 
nor  did  she  respond  to  my  salute  l^^^'ving  me, 

r-  I^*"  Tuf  \'''''"  ^°*"  °^  •^'^'^  S^«y-  of  the  roughest  mate 
alpro^bly  homespun,  but  scrupulously  neat.    iToTL 
breast  was  pmned  a  handkerchief  of  snowy  white-  .J 
arge  frilled  cap  shaded  a  face,  somewhrema  ^d    with" 
atu.s  clear-cut,  and  white  hair  showing  but  sligh  .'un, 

:^^^^ZsZtn:-i^-st— ■ 

My  rears  were  set  at  rest  wh^n  ♦!,=  „ij 
her  lips,  saying:  "'"^  '^°"''"''  op«"'^d 

"Miss  Winifred,  alanna!     And  is  that  yourself" 
of  ^J''"^^^^^^''°'"^thing  so  hu:„an  and  tender  in  the  souud 
of  the  voice  that  I  felt  at  once  drawn  tn  that       ''^\^''""<' 
Which  resembled  more  a  statue  tharatiUof  ^  '^^'^ 
girl  slid?  ''"""''  "'  ''"  ''"*'*  ^""^  ""^  -'th  -e."  the 


I8  AT  THE  CASTLE. 

A  look  of  something  like  alarm  crossed  the  old  woman's 
face. 

"A  stranger?"  she  said  uneasily. 

"  Yes,   dear  granny ;   'tis  a   lady   from   America." 

This  time  the  old  woman  started  perceptibly,  and  her 
gaze  seemed  to  fix  itself  on  my  face,  while  there  was  a 
straightening  of  her  whole  figure  into  rigfid  attention. 

"  I  have  been  staying  in  the  neighborhood,"  I  put  in ; 
"  and  chancing  to  meet  your  granddaughter — " 

"  She  is  no  gr^anddaughter  of  mine ! "  interrupted  the  old 
woman,  hastily  and,  as  it  seemed,  almost  angrily.  "  No,  Miss 
Winifred  is  not." 

"  Forgive  me,  please !  I  did  not  know,"  I  stammered. 
"  I   thought  she  addressed  you   as  granny." 

"  Oh,  that's  just  her  coaxing  way!  And,  besides,  it's  a 
custom  hereabouts.  Ould  women  like  myself  are  all  gran- 
nies." 

Every  trace  of  annoyance  or  of  fear  had  passed  from  the 
serene  old  face,  and  the  habitual  courtesy  of  the  Irish  peasant 
became  at  once  conspicuous. 

"Have  vou  a  chair  for  the  lady,  Miss  Winifred,  asthore? 
Mebbe  it's  a  glass  of  new  milk  she'd  be  takin'  after  her  walk," 

I  accepted  this  refreshment,  partly  to  establish  myself  upon 
a  friendly  footing  with  my  new  acquaintances,  and  partly 
because  I  was  really  glad  of  the  restorative  after  a  long  walk. 
The  milk  was  brought  me  by  a  bare-legged  and  ruddy- 
cheeked  girl  of  about  Winifred's  own  age,  who  did  much  of 
the  rough  work  about  the  place;  though,  as  I  afterward 
learned,  Winifred,  in  some  of  her  moods,  would  insist  on 
milking  the  cow,  and  driving  it  home  from  pasture ;  or  would 
go  forth  to  gather  the  peat  for  the  fire,  in  spite  of  all  remon- 
strance, 


AT  THE  CASTLE.  ,g 

There  were  things  that  puzzled  me  about  this  unusual 
abode— the  scrupulous  respect  with  which  the  old  woman 
treated  the  girl,  the  appearance  of  comfort  and  plenty  about 
this  strange  retreat  in  the  heart  of  a  once  warlike  citadel, 
where  the  chiefs  of  old  had  displayed  their  banners  and 
manned  the  walls  with  clansmen  and  gallow-glasses.  Then 
the  singular  expression  of  the  old  woman's  countenance,  and 
the  manner  in  which  she  gazed  before  her,  apparently  at 
vacancy,  once  I  had  stepped  out  of  her  range  of  vision.  Only 
one  of  these  mysteries  was  I  destined  to  solve  upon  the  occa- 
sion of  this  first  visit. 

While  I  sipped  my  milk  and  nibbled  at  the  bit  of  fresh 
oaten  bread  which  accompanied  it,  I  conversed  with  the  old 
woman;  Winifred  standing  mute,  in  the  shadow  of  the  deep 
window,  as  if  lost  in  thought. 

"America's  very  far  off  entirely,"  said  granny,  dreamily 
— "  acrost  the  ocean ;  and  they  tell  me  it's  a  very  fine  coun- 
try, with  riches  and  plenty  for  all." 

"  It  is  a  fine  country,"  I  said  warmly ;  "  but  there  are  many 
there  who  have  neither  riches  nor  plenty  and  who  live  and 
die  in  misery." 

"  Do  you  tell  me  so?  "  exclaimed  the  old  woman.  "  Look 
at  that  now!  And  the  boys  and  giris  thinkin'  it  long  till 
they  get  out  there,  and  have  money  in  their  pockets  and  fine 
clothes  on  their  backs." 

"Well,  many  of  them  do  succeed,"  I  remarked;  "only 
they  have  to  work  hard  for  it.  There's  no  royal  road  to  suc- 
cess anywhere." 

"True  for  you,  ma'am,— true  for  you!"  sighed  the  old 
woman.  " 'Tis  the  law,  and  'twas  a  wise  God  that 
ordained  it." 

"  1  know  one  person  that  got  rich  without  working,"  said 


ao  AT   THE  CASTLE. 

Winifred,  speaking  suddenly  and  with  a  kind  of  imperious- 
ness. 

I  looked  at  her  in  surprise,  and  the  granny  said,  in  a  sooth- 
ing tone : 

"Ah,  then,  asthore,  don't  be  bringin'  in  names !  It's  safer  not." 

Winifred,  for  answer,  turned  silently  to  the  window,  gaz- 
ing out  again,  and  I  was  left  to  conjecture  that  here  was 
another  mystery.  What  experience  of  life  could  this  child 
have  had?  And  who  in  that  neighborhood  could  have  grown 
rich,  suddenly  or  otherwise?  When  I  rose  to  go  I  expressed 
my  desire  to  come  again. 

"  Mebbe  you'd  have  a  curiosity  to  see  more  of  the  ould 
place,"  said  the  woman. 

"  But  the  castle  is  not  a  show  place,"  cried  Winifred,  impe- 
riously.    "  It's   private   property." 

"God  help  your  wit!"  I  heard  the  old  woman  mutter; 
but  aloud  she  said  with  conciliation,  almost  deference: 

"Sure  you  know  as  well  as  I  do.  Miss  Winifred  dear, 
that  every  castle  in  the  country,  even  where  the  grand  folks 
do  be  livin',  is  thrown  open  every  now  and  again  to  travel- 
lers." 

"  This  castle  is  not  open  to  any  one,"  said  Winifred,  draw- 
ing her  slight  figure  to  its  height  and  addressing  me;  "but 
if  you,  being  from  America,  would  like  to  see  it,  I  would 
show  it  to  you." 

I  told  her  that  I  should  very  much  like  to  see  it,  and  would 
certainly  come  again  for  the  purpose. 

"There's  some  stories  about  the  ould  place  that  mebbe 
you'd  like  to  hear,  ma'am,"  said  Granny  Meehan,  anxious 
to  make  amends  for  any  abruptness  on  the  part  of  her  charge. 

I  told  her  that  the  stories  would  be  an  additional  attrac- 
tion; and  as  I  was  about  leaving  the  room,  I  remarked: 


AT  THE  CASTLE.  j, 

"It's  a  glorious  day.  You  should  go  out.  Mrs.  Meehan, 
If  only  to  see  the  sun  shining  on  the  mountains." 

Winifred  sprang  forward,  her  face  crimson. 

"  For  shame !  for  shame !  "  she  cried. 

I  turned  back  to  the  old  woman  in  perplexity.  The  ghost 
of  a  smile  was  on  her  face,  as  she  declared : 

T  ul  "'  ^"  "*""  *"  *^  ^"^^*^  '""  """"^  '"  tWs  world.— 
I  shall  never  see  it  more.  But  I  like  to  know  that  it  is  shin- 
ing." 

Here,  then,  was  the  solution  of  one  mystery;  and  as  I 
looked  at  that  fine  and  placid  countenance  I  wondered  at 
my  own  stupidity;  for  though  the  eyes  were  wide  open,  their 
expression  told  the  tale  very  plainly. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,"  I  said ;  "  I  did  not  know.  Can  you  ever 
forgive  me?" 

"There's  nothing  to  forgive  nor  to  be  sorr-   for"  she 

replied,  with  a  smile  breaking  over  her  face  like  sunshine. 

Glory  be  to  God  for  all  His  mercies!    I've  been  sittin'  here 

.n  the  dark  for  ten  years;  but  all  the  time,  thanks  be  to  His 

holy  name,  as  happy  as  a  lark." 

I  turned  away,  with  admiration  mingled  with  compas- 

sion,  '^ 

"And."  added  the  old  woman,  "I  know  the  purty  sight 

Z7t  T  1'  "f'^"  '"^-  '  '^''^  *°  -'  ^^oiJ  I 
saw  It  the  sun  playin'  about  the  hills  in  little  streams  of  gold 

hilh  If  w"m  ""^  '"^"'"'"'  '"  '*^  ^'°^-  Oh,  r  know  the' 
h.  Is  of  Wicklow  since  I  was  a  wee  dawshy!  And  there  isn't 
a  tree  nor  a  blade  of  grass  nor  a  mountain  flower  that  Granny 
Meehan  doesn't  remember  from  old  days  that  are  far  off 

emof'*'"  *S*  !^'""''''''  ''"'^'''  *"«  *=»*  *°*ing  with 
emotion,  while  her  eyes  filled  with  tears.     I  also  saw  that 


32  AT  THE  CASTLE. 

she  had  hardly  forgiven  me  yot  for  my  blunder.  I  suggested 
gently  that  we  had  better  go,  and  the  girl  made  no  objection. 
So  we  pursued  our  homeward  way,  silently  for  the  most 
part.    Suddenly,  I  exclaimed: 

"  Oh,  what  a  beautiful  nature  has  that  old  woman ! " 

"Do  you  mean  granny?"  Winifred  asked  quickly.  "Oh, 
she's  as  beautiful  as — ^the  Dargle !  " 

And  even  while  we  talked  burst  upon  us  that  view,  which, 
once  seen,  can  never  be  forgotten.  Those  hills  arising  on 
either  side,  clothed  in  a  superb,  living  green;  and  the  loveli- 
est of  glens  below,  with  the  rippling  beauty  of  its  stream  fair 
as  the  poet's  river  of  the  earthly  paradise ;  and  Powerscourt's 
splendid  demesne  to  the  eastward,  and  all  the  mountains  about, 
arising  grandly,  enlivened  with  that  unsurpassed   sunshine. 

"  Ye  hills,  g^ve  praise  to  God !  "  I  murmured  involuntarily ; 
and  paused,  feeling  Winifred's  dark  eyes  upon  me,  with 
inquiry  in  their  glance. 

"It  is  a  verse  from  the  hymn  of  thanksgfiving  sung  often 
in  church,"  I  said.    "  Did  you  ever  hear  it?" 

Winifred  shook  her  head. 

"They  don't  sing  much  in  the  chapel  down  below,"  she 
said,  "except  simple  little  hymns.  It  isn't  like  the  grand 
days  when  the  castle  was  full  of  people  and  the  cbbey  church 
was    lose  by." 

Then  she  paused,  as  if  she  did  not  care  to  say  more ;  and 
as  we  were  now  within  sight  of  the  hill  she  suddenly  left 
me,  waving  her  hand  in  farewell,  and  swinging  herself  by 
the  tree-bridge  across  the  mountain-stream. 

"  Good-by  I "  she  called  back  to  me.  "And  don't  forget 
ne  .t  time  that  granny  is  bifnd." 


WINIFRED  ASKS  QUESTIONS. 


'3 


CHAPTER   III. 


WINIFRED  ASKS   QUESTIONS. 

The  morning  after  my  visit  to  the  castle  I  set  out  early 
to  enjoy  the  beauties  of  the  Glen,  having  first  partaken  of 
breakfast  and  ;njoyed  a  little  chat  with  my  landlord,  who 
was  growing  accustomed  to  my  American  inquisitiveness. 

"  Sure  she's  a  fine  woman  is  Granny  Meehan !  "  he  said, 
in  answer  to  some  opinion  I  had  given  concerning  her ;  "  an' 
a  religious  woman,  too,  and  ver)-  knowledgeable  for  her  sta- 
tion. But  her  head  is  full  of  queer  consates.  I  think  it's 
most  turned  by  livin'  up  beyant  alone  so  long." 

"  How  did  she  come  to  have  the  care  of  Miss  Winifred 
and  to  live  in  the  old  castle  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"Well,  none  of  us  knows — that  is,  to  be  sure  about  it. 
Master  Roderick,  he  was  a  gay,  sportin'  lad.  I  mind  him 
well,  tearin'  about  the  country  on  his  white  horse,  stoppin' 
a  night  now  at  the  ould  place  above;  and  away  agin,  no  one 
knew  whither.  His  father,  ',  no  owned  the  place  before  him 
and  lived  in  it  every  year  for  a  few  weeks,  was  dead  and  so 
were  all  belongin'  to  him."  The  landlord  drew  breath  and 
lowered  his  voice  somewhat.  "Well,  in  some  of  his  wan- 
derin's  about  the  country  what  does  he  do  but  get  married, 
an'  we  never  seen  the  bride  down  here  at  all,  at  all;  but  it 
was  the  talk  of  the  country-side  that  she  was  of  a  fine  ould 


H  WINIFRED  ASKS  QUESTIONS. 

stock  an'  a  rale  lady.    But  he  never  brought  her  next  or  nigh 
the  ould  place.    Perhaps  it  was  ashamed  of  its  bein'  ruinous- 
like  or  afeard  of  the  gossip  of  the  country-side." 
I  listened  with- the  deepest  attention. 
"  It  was  on  All-Hallow-Eve  that  Winifred  there  came  to 
the  castle.     Mrs.  Meehan,  who  had  been  nurse  to  Master 
Roderick  himself,  was  brought  up  from  the  village  in  haste. 
Fires  were  lighted,  beds  got  ready,  and  toward  nightfall  a 
gentleman  in  black  rode  up  to  the  castle  door.    Now,  some 
that  saw  him  say  it  was  the  young  gentleman  himself  riding 
his  white  horse,  but  more  says  it  was  a  stranger;  and  coming 
the  way  he  did  and  on  that  night  of  all  nights!    It's  a  quare 
story,  and  no  wonder  that  the  child's  different  from  other 
childer." 

"How  old  was  she  when  she  came?" 

The  landlord  reflected. 

"  Well,  I  think  it  would  be  about  seven,  though  none  of 
us  ever  rightly  knew." 

"Did  the  father  visit  her?" 

"  From  that  time  to  this,"  said  the  landlord,  impressively, 
"  he  was  never  seen  in  the  cjuntry-side.  There  seemed  to  be 
some  secret  or  other  in  the  business;  and  Granny  Meehan 
never  opened  her  mouth  about  it,  only  bowin'  and  scrapin' 
with  Miss  Winifred  here  and  Miss  Winifred  there.  Some 
do  say  that  she's  afeard  of  the  colleen,  and  knows  well  enough 
that  she's  not  of  mortal  stock.  But  that's  the  ould  people ! " 
he  concluded,  with  a  toss  of  the  head.  •'  Meself  thinks  she's 
Masfer  Roderick's  daughter;  though  why  he  should  give  her 
up  and  never  come  near  her  is  more  than  any  mortal  can 
tell." 

"  It  is  a  curious  stor>-,"  I  said:  "quite  a  romance,  and  fits 
in  well  with  your  lovely  country  here  and  the  remains  of 


TINIFRED  ASKS   QUESTIONS.  aj 

that  grand  old  castle.     But  who  is  this  curious  companion 
Winifred  goes  about  with  and  does  not  care  to  name?" 

"  There's  more  than  her  that  won't  name  him,"  said  the 
landlord ;  "  though  I  think  it's  Granny  Meehan  that  does  be 
cautionin'  the  colleen.  She's  not  afeard  of  man  nor  beast 
nor  spirit,  and  if  she  doesn't  name  him  it's  on  account  of  the 
ould  woman." 

"But  who  is  he?" 

"  Now,  ma'am  dear,"  said  the  landlord,  "  I  have  been  dis- 
coursin'  to  you  already  of  things  that  mebbe  shouldn't  pa.ss 
my  lips,  and  I'd  be  entirely  obliged  if  you  wouldn't  ask  me 
to  have  part  nor  parcel  with  them  that's  unlucky,  nor  so 
much  as  to  name  them." 

With  this  I  had  to  be  content,  and  I  strolled  out  to  that 
world-famous  Glen  of  the  Dargle,  and  sat  down  beside  the 
stream  on  grass  that  was  green  and  soft  as  velvet.  Above 
me  on  all  sides  rose  the  hills,  the  trees,  in  their  shaded  green, 
still  sparkling  with  dew;  the  waterfall  dashing  over  the  stones 
into  the  dark  stream  below,  and  the  tree-bridge  overhanging 
that  terrible  ravine.  I  might  not  at  first  have  perceived  that 
this  bridge  was  tenanted  had  not  a  clear  voice  suddenly  broken 
the  stillness,  thrilling  out  some  quaint  melody,  which  was 
Irish  in  its  wild,  mournful  character,  and  yet  had  a  tinge  of  • 
drollery.  I  did  not  recognize  it,  however,  nor  could  I  have 
called  it  by  name.  I  looked  up  hastily,  well  knowing  that 
the  graceful  figure  and  charming,  childish  face  of  Winifred 
would  meet  my  view.  Once  again,  as  on  a  former  occasion 
I  hesitated  to  speak  for  fear  of  startling  her ;  but  she  addressed 
me  presently,  bringing  her  song  to  a  sudden  stop. 

•'Good  morning!"  she  said.     " 'Tis  lovely  weather." 
"  Lovely  indeed,"  I  answered,  looking  up  at  her  and  reflect- 
mg  what  a  strange  little  creature  she  was.  talking  down  to 


a6  WINIFRED  ASKS  QUESTIONS. 

me  as  calmly  from  that  high  and  perilous  perch  as  though 
she  sat  on  a  rocking-chair  at  a  fireside. 

"  My  dear  child,"  I  said,  involuntarily,  "  you  make  me 
dizzy." 

"Dizzy?"  repeated  the  girl. 

"Being  up  so  high  and  over  that  deep  ravine,"  I  called 
back;  for  the  noise  of  the  waterfall  forced  me  to  raise  my 
voice  in  order  to  be  heard. 

"  The  dear  old  Dargle ! "  she  exclaimed,  looking  lovingly 
down  at  the  stream.  "1  sit  here,  as  I  told  you,  almost  every 
day.    But  I'll  come  down  immediately  if  it  makes  you  dizzy." 

She  carried  out  her  promise  so  swiftly  and  so  recklessly 
that  it  fairly  took  away  my  breath.  She  stood  a  momer  or 
two  on  the  green  height,  and  then  ran  down  to  me,  her  face 
shining  with  the  glow  of  the  morning,  full  of  life  and  health 
and  the  very  joy  of  being  alive.  She  was  soon  at  my  side 
and  threw  herself  near  me  on  the  grass. 

"  Do  you  like  Ireland  just  as  well  as  America?  "  she  asked 
me  after  a  pause. 

'reland  is  very  beautiful,"  I  replied. 

Her  face  flushed  and  her  eye  lighted  as  she  nodded  two 
or  three  times,  but  did  not  speak.  It  was  as  though  some 
one  very  dear  to  her  had  been  praised. 

"  I  was  told  once,"  she  said,  "  that  streets  in  America  are 
paved  with  gold.  But — perhaps  it  isn't  true."  She  said  the 
last  words  wistfully,  as  though  reluctant  to  part  with  an  illu- 
sion. "And  I  suppose,"  she  went  on,  "there  are  no  trees 
there  with  golden  leaves  nor  birds  with  silver  wings?" 

"  No,"  I  said ;  "  there  are  no  streets  paved  with  gold,  and 
no  goMen  trees  nor  birds  with  silver  wings.  But  there  are 
many  beautiful  things — glorious  mountains,  vast  forests, 
broad  rivers,  splendid  cities." 


WINIFRED  ASKS  QUESTIONS.  gf 

"  I  should  like  to  hear  of  them  some  time,"  she  said,  "  if 
you  will  be  kind  enough  to  tell  me." 

"  Oh,  I  shall  tell  you  anything  you  want  to  hear,"  I  replied ; 
"  for,  as  we  agreed  to  be  friends,  one  friend  must  try  to  give 
pleasure  to  another." 

"  Yes,  that  is  true,"  she  assented ;  "  and  because  of  that 
I  will  show  you  my  castle,  though  I  don't  like  showing  it 
to  strangers." 

I  looked  at  her  with  an  interest  which  was  enhanced  by 
the  story  I  had  heard  that  morning — pathetic,  romantic,  and 
altogether  unusual. 

"You  have  always  lived  there?"  I  asked. 

"  No,"  she  said,  briefly.  "  I  remember  to  have  lived  at 
another  place,  but  that  is  very  long  ago  and  does  not  matter." 

It  was  evident  that  she  did  not  wish  to  continue  the 
subject. 

"  I  shall  have  to  leave  you,"  she  said,  all  at  once ;  "  for, 
listen !  I  hear  the  tinkle  of  a  bell,  and  I  am  afraid  that  our 
cow  has  got  out." 

"Do  you  take  care  of  the  cow?"  I  asked  involuntarily; 
for  the  circumstance  somviiow  seemed  su-prising  and  out  of 
keeping  with  the  child's  appearance. 

"Oh,  Moira  does  generally!"  she  replied  carelessly. 
"  She,  you  know,  is  our  little  maid-of-all-work.  Sometimes 
I  do  myself,  though;  for  I  love  poor  Cusha,  and  I  like  to  pat 
her  silky  back  and  play  with  her  long  ears.  She  hasn't  any 
horns.  But  she  wouldn't  hurt  me  if  she  had ;  for,  you  see, 
she  knows  me,  and  puts  down  her  head  for  me  to  pet,  and 
lows  when  she  sees  me  coming.  She  is  a  very  wise  cow.  I 
wish  she  could  talk." 

"  T  wonder  what  her  conversation  would  be  like?"  I  said, 
laughing. 


*  WINIFRED  ASKS  QUESTIONS. 

her*hlL'°'    ^*"'  "^  -"-**'"  I  -'•■enteHn,  into 

an/»f 'fi'^u*'"'  f*"*  *•"  ^""^  «^**"  ^'°^^'  »"d  *«  grass 
and  the  fields,  where  she  ha.  lived;  and  about  the  hills   for 

shes  been  up  here  a  great  many  years.  She  was  bom  before 
I  was  and  she  looks  at  everything  with  her  big  brown  eye. 
as  .f  she  were  thinking  about  them.  She  might  be  able  to 
tel  .f  there  were  any  fairies  or  things  of  that  kind ;  for  she's 
out  sometimes  in  the  moonlight,  or  at  dusk  and  in  the  early 
mommg.  too,  when  people  say  they  pass  by  " 

"  "r°"  ■"""ft  believe  all  the  people  tell  you."  I  answered, 
though  I  was  half  sorry  for  the  suggestion  when  I  saw  how 
her  face  cbuded  over.  "Their  tales  might  be  like  the  golden 
streets  and  the  silver  birds." 

She  arose  slowly,  and  seemed  as  if  about  to  turn  away  • 
then  she  added,  half  to  herself: 

"  I  wonder  if  she  knows  anything  about  what  he  is  trying 
to  find  out,  what  he  has  found  out?" 
"Who?"  I  asked  hastily. 

;*  Some  one,"  she  said,  evasively.  "  Oh,  the  bell  is  tinkling 
agajn.  Cusha  might  get  lost.  Good-by!  And  come  soon 
to  the  castle.  I  will  show  you  every  bit  of  it  and  tell  you  true 
thmgs  about  it." 

She  said  the  last  words  loftily,  as  though  to  let  me  know 
that  all  her  talk  was  not  of  the  unreal,  the  fictitious,  the 
poetic.    I  sat  a  few  minutes  longer  musing  over  her  and  her 

T^;  ^  .  "  '^^""  *°  ''^^'  ^'^^'  ««  an  offset,  a  trans- 
atlantic fashion  paper  which  had  reached  me  by  mail  that 
morning. 


A  SINGULAR  FIGURE. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


A  SINGULAR   FIGURE. 

I  WAS  presently  tempted  to  think  that  my  landlord  was 
right  when  he  spoke  of  the  "  queer  company  "  which  Wini- 
fred sometimes  kept.  For,  as  I  was  rambling  about  one  even- 
ing under  the  white  blossoms  of  the  hawthorn,  I  suddenly 
beheld  her  high  up  on  a  mountain  pass.  This  time  she  was 
without  her  blue  cloak,  but  wore  a  shawl  of  vivid  scarlet,  the 
comer  of  which  she  had  wound  about  her  head.  Contrasting 
with  the  emerald  green  of  the  grass  and  the  folage  all  about 
her,  she  seemed  more  than  ever  like  a  mountain  sprite  who 
had  suddenly  sprung  from  the  ground. 

I  was  about  to  advance  and  address  her,  when  I  perceived 
that  she  was  not  alone.  Beside  her,  upon  the  greensward, 
stood  one  of  the  wildest  and  most  singular  figures  it  has  ever 
been  my  fortune  to  see.  He  was  tall,  and  would  have  been 
of  commanding  presence  but  for  a  slight  stoop  in  his  shoul- 
ders. His  hair,  worn  long,  was  dishevelled  and  unkempt, 
surmounted  by  a  high-peaked,  sugar-loaf  hat,  the  like  of  which 
I  had  nevjr  seen  before.  His  breeches  were  of  corduroy, 
such  as  might  be  worn  by  any  peasant  in  the  vicinity;  only 
that  this  particular  pair  was  of  a  peculiarly  bright  green 
vivid  enough  to  throw  even  the  grass  of  the  Emerald  Isle 
into  the  shade.    A  waistcoat  of  red  increased  the  impression 


JB  A  SWCUI.AR  HGVRE. 

of  color.  He  might  have  been  some  gigantic  tropical  plant, 
80  gorgeous  and  so  varied  were  these  commingling  hu«s. 
Over  all  he  wore  a  garment,  neither  coat  nor  cloak,  with  wide, 
hanging  sleeves.  His  countenance  was  as  singular  as  his  cos- 
tume; his  eyes  keen,  yet  half-furtive,  half-deprecating  in  their 
expression;  his  chin  cloaii-shaven,  showing  the  hollow,  cav- 
ernous cheeks  with  fearful  distinctness.  His  nose,  long  and 
slightly  hooked,  seemed  as  if  pointing  toward  the  ground, 
upon  which  just  then  hi*  eyes  were  fixed. 

He  was  discoursing  to  the  child ;   and,  as  I  came  nearer, 
I  thought  he  was  using  the  Irish  tongue,  or  at  least  many 
Gaelic  words.     Once  he  pointed  upward  to  the  sky  with  a 
wild  gesture;  again  he  bent  down  to  the  earth,  illustratin^T 
some  weird  tale  he  was  telling;  whilst  expressions  of  anger, 
of  cunning,  of  malice  or  of  joy  swept  over  his  face,  each  being 
reflected  in  the  mobile  countenance  of  Winifred,  who  stood  by. 
She  seamed  to  follow  every  word  he  said  with  eager  interest. 
In  a  pause  of  the  narrative  he  took  oflF  his  hat  and  made 
a  courtly  bow  to  the  child,  who  held  herself  erecc  before  him. 
Resuming  his  ialk,  he  pointed  more  than  once  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  castle,  so  that  I  fancied  he  was  dwelling  upon  the 
fortunes  of  the  race  who  had  once  abode  there  and  of  the 
chiefs  and  heroes  who  had  made  it  famous.    Once,  however, 
I  caught  the  name  of  Malachy,  which  might  have  been  that  of 
any  peasant  in  the  neighborhood ;  and  again  the  word  "  La- 
genian."     Then  the  old  man  relapsed  into  silence,  sighing 
profoundly;    whilst  above  his  head  the  dark  leaves  waved 
softly  and  the  projecting  branches  almost  touched   his  hat. 
Winifred  finally  broke  the  silence— I  heard  her  clear,  child- 
ish voice  distinctly : 

"  Ever  since  we  went  to  the  Waterfalls  that  day  I  have 
been  wanting  to  talk  to  you  of  the  Phoul-a-Phooka." 


A  SINGVLAR  FIGUKF..  .„ 

"But  I  have  told  you.  Miss  Winifred,"  the  man  replied, 
with  some  impatience,  "all  that  I  know.  The  Phooka  is  a 
fierce  beast,  with  fire  streaming  from  his  eyes  and  nostrils, 
coal-black  and  gig^antic  of  size.  That  is  how  the  legend 
describes  him;  and  if  any  unlucky  wayfarer  meets  him  he 
is  compelled  to  mount  and  ride.  The  place  which  I  took  you 
to  see  is  called  after  him.  You  kno^^  how  Iwely  it  is,  how 
wild,  how  solitary,  and  how  well  suited  to  the  work  I  have 
in  hand.    I  made  discoveries  there,  Winifred — indeed,  I  did !  " 

Here  his  voice  dropped  to  a  whisper,  and  Winifred  put 
two  or  three  eager  questions  to  him. 

"  But  you  didn't  tell  me  when  we  were  there."  she  said. 

"It  was  better  not.  We  have  had  listeners,"  the  man 
responded. 

"I  was  thinking,"  Winifred  went  on,  changing  the  sub- 
ject abruptly,  "  of  that  story  of  the  tailor.  You  know,  if  the 
Phoul-a-Phooka  had  ridden  down  that  precipice  we  saw,  with 
him  upon  his  back,  why,  the  tailor  couldn't  have  told  what 
happened;  for  he  would  have  been  killed." 

"There's  no  saying,  there's  no  saying!"  replied  the 
stranger,  absently.  "There  are  mysteries,  my  girl;  but  the 
legend  declares  that  it  was  the  garment  which  the  tailor  carried 
that  caused  the  beast  to  throw  him  off." 

"Are  legends  true?"  the  girl  asked. 

"Who  knows?"  answered  the  old  man,  with  the  same 
dreamy  air.  "They  hold  a  kernel  of  truth,  every  one  of 
them." 

"The  lady  says  many  things  are  not  true,"  Winifred 
observed. 

"The  lady!  What  lady?"  demanded  the  other  almost 
fiercely,  with  a  light  of  cunning  gleaming  from  his  black 
pyes. 


32 


A  SINGULAR  FIGURE. 


"  The  lady  from  America." 

"  Oh,  from  America  did  you  say  ?  "  exclaimed  the  man, 
in  a  hushed  and  trembling  voice,  bending  low  and  looking 
about  him  with  a  terror  and  anxiety  which  were  almost  gro- 
tesque. "  Don't  say  that  word,  Miss  V.'^inifred !  Don't  now, 
my  beautiful  white  flower  of  the  mountain !  " 

The  incident  reminded  me  that  Granny  Meehan  at  the  castle 
had  also  shown,  on  the  occasion  of  my  visit,  a  certain  alann 
at  the  mention  of  America;  and  I  wondered  what  mystery 
enveloped  this  singular  child  and  those  who  were  her  guard- 
ians. Winifred  had  perceived  the  man's  consternation ;  look- 
ing intently  at  her  singfular  companion,  she  asked: 

"Why,  are  you  afraid  of  people  from  America?" 

Standing  thus  before  the  old  man,  she  put  the  question 
with  the  point-blank  frankness  of  childhood. 

"  No,  no,  no !  "  came  the  answer,  hurriedly  and  with  the 
same  tone  of  tremulous  eagerness,—"  at  least,  child,  it  is  not 
the  kind  of  fear  you  think." 

"Why  do  you  shiver,  then,  and  look  like  that?" 

"  Because,  O  Winifred  mavourneen,  say  it  is  not  for  you 
she's  come !  " 

"For  me!"  echoed  Winifred  in  astonishment;  then  she 
burst  into  one  of  her  merriest  peals  of  laughter,  seizing  a 
handful  of  leaves  and  throwing  them  at  him.  "  Why  do  you 
think  that,  you  dear,  old  Niall?" 

"I  suppose  I'm  getting  old  and  full  of  fears,"  the  man 
said.  "  The  winter  of  life  is  like  the  winter  of  the  years.  It 
has  its  chills  and  frosts,  its  larger  share  of  darkness.  But 
what  if  one  should  come  and  take  you  away  before  we  are 
ready — ^before  the  work  we  have  to  do  is  done?" 

"No  one  shall  take  me  away  unless  I  like!"  Winifred 
cried  out,  throwing  back  her  small  head  proudly. 


A  S  .\CULAR  Fii  URE. 


33 


"Wilful  I  know  ycii  a'e  as  a  mountain  torrent,"  Niall 
answered  witVi  a  smile ;  "  but  there  are  some  who  might  take 
you  away  against  your  will  and  with  none  to  say  them 
nay." 

"I  wish  you  would  not  talk  so!"  Winifred  said  petu- 
lantly, tearing  to  pieces  with  her  slender,  delicate  fingers  a 
daisy  which  she  had  picked  up  from  the  grass.  She  threw 
the  stalk  away  impatiently.  "  There  I  "  she  cried.  "  By  your 
foolish  talk  you  have  made  me  destroy  one  of  my  own  little 
daisies;  and  I  always  think  of  them  as  little  children  playing 
in  the  long  g^ss,  hiding  from  one  another,  letting  the  wind 
blow  them  about,  and  loving  the  sun,  as  all  children  do." 

The  strange  man  gazed  thoughtfully  at  her  as  she  spoke. 

"  The  same  old  fancies !  "  he  muttered ;  "  the  same  turn 
of  mind!  But  I  think  the  country  people  are  right:  she's 
too  wise.  She  has  an  old  head  on  young  shoulders;  too  old 
a  head  for  a  child." 

It  was  Winifred's  turn  to  stare  at  Niall. 

"  Why  are  you  talking  to  yourself  like  that  ?  "  she  asked. 
"It  isn't  polite." 

But  the  old  man,  who  had  been  suddenly  seized  with  a 
new  idea,  clasped  his  hands  as  if  in  desperate  anxiety,  and 
bent  toward  the  child,  crying: 

"You  didn't  tell  her,  daughter  of  the  O'Bymes — you 
didn't  tell  her?  Oh,  say  you  didn't!  For  that  would  mean 
ruin— utter,  blank  ruin." 

Winifred  looked  at  him  with  a  flash  of  scorn  that  darkened 
her  blue  eyes  into  black, — a  look  of  lofty  indignation  which 
struck  me  forcibly. 

"  So  that's  all  you  know  of  me,  Niall,"  she  cried,  "  after 
the  years  that  we've  walked  the  glen  together,  and  up  the 
passes  of  the  Croghans  and  down  by  the  streams !    You  think 


i  'i 


34 


A  SINGULAR  FIGURE. 


I  could  betray  what  I  know  to  the  first  stranger  that  crosses 
my  path !  " 

The  man  was  struck  dumb  by  the  passionate  cadence  in 
the  young  voice,  which  went  on  reproaching,  upbraiding,  as 
some  spirit  of  the  mountain  might  have  done. 

"  Oh,  you're  a  nice  companion  for  me  when  you  could 
say  such  a  thing — you  that  taught  me  the  secret  of  the  stars, 
and  how  they  shine  down,  down  just  on  the  spot  where  that 
which  we  seek  lies  hidden,  and  after  showing  me  its  gleam  in 
the  shining  waters !  "  ' 

"  Miss  Winifred,"  cried  the  old  man,  "  forgive  me !  "  And 
he  bent  one  knee  before  her.  "  I  was  thinking  of  the  ordinary 
child,  with  its  love  of  telling  news;  and  not  of  the  young 
lady,  with  the  old  blood  in  her  veins  and  a  mind  of  uncom- 
mon acuteness." 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  kneel  to  me,"  she  said  gravely,  in 
her  princess-like  manner.  "  You're  old  and  I'm  young,  and 
you  should  not  kneel.  Neither  should  I  have  spoken  to  you 
as  I  did.  But  you  must  not  doubt  me — ^you  must  not  believe 
I  could  betray  your  secret." 

"Then  you  forgive  me?"  said  the  old  man.  "And,  to 
show  you  how  I  do  trust  you,  I'm  going  to  give  you  another 
present,  mavoumeen.  Oh,  the  like  of  it  you  never  saw!" 
He  drew  from  his  pocket  as  he  spoke  some  object  care- 
fully wrapped  up  in  a  handkerchief;  but  as  he  unwound  the 
wrapping  I  distinctly  saw  the  gleam  of  gold,  and,  to  my 
astonishment,  a  very  beautiful  gold  bracelet,  apparently  highly 
wrought.  The  old  man  displayed  it  upon  a  leaf  which 
made  a  charming  background.  Winifred  clapped  her  hands 
and  fairly  danced  with  joy,  her  eyes  shining  and  her  face 
glowing. 

"  Oh,  is  that  for  me,  you  dear,  good  Nial!  ?  "  she  exdaimecl. 


A  SINGULAR  FIGURE.  ^j 

For  tlie  third  time  in  my  hearing  she  called  the  man  by 
his  name. 

"  It  is  for  you,  child  of  my  heart,  my  beautiful  little  lady !  " 
said  the  man,  gratified  by  her  enthusiasm. 

"  It  is  the  most  beautiful,  far  the  most  beautiful,  you  have 
given  me  yet." 

"  It  is  a  rare  gem  of  art,  of  faultless  carving  and  of  the 
purest  gold,"   said   Niall,   triumphantly. 

"Where  did  you  get  it,  pray?"  asked  the  child. 

The  answer  I  did  not  hear,  for  the  man  stooped  low  and 
spoke  m  a  whisper.  I  feared  that,  being  discovered,  I  should 
find  myself  in  an  awkward  predicament;  so  I  thought  only 
of  beating  a  hasty  retreat.  In  so  doing  I  stumbled  and  fell. 
Fortunately,  it  was  upon  soft  moss— the  kindly  breast  of 
Mother  Nature. 

Winifred's  keen  eyes  saw  what  had  occurred,  and  she  ran 
mstantly  to  my  assistance.  I  assured  her  that  I  was  not  hurt 
and,  on  rising,  looked  about  for  her  strange  companion.  He 
had  disappeared  as  completely  as  if  the  grassy  sward  had 
opened  and  swallowed  him.  The  child  did  not  say  a  word 
about  his  having  been  there;  and,  for  some  unexplained 
reason,  I  felt  that  I  could  not  ask  any  questions.  There  was 
about  her  more  than  ever  on  this  occasion  that  air  of  pride 
and  reserve  which  was  sometimes  so  noticeable. 

As  soon,  however,  as  she  saw  that  I  was  unhurt  she  left 
me  m  a  rather  more  unceremonious  fashion  than  usual.  She 
feared,  perhaps,  that  I  might  refer  to  her  conversation  with 
the  man  whom  she  had  called  Niall.  I  watched  her  walking 
away  more  thoughtful  than  usual,  her  step  scarcely  touching 
deltir'"'  '°  ''^''*  ^'''  '^^'  ^""^  ^  '"^^^"^''  ^t  her  singular 
When  I  reached  the  inn  I  took  the  landlord  into  my  con- 


i 


36  A  SINGULAR  F.  jURE. 

fidence,  to  the  extent  of  telling  him  that  I  had  seen  Winifred 
in  company  with  a  peculiar-looking  man,  and  that  he  had 
seemed  disturbed  when  she  spoke  of  the  lady  from  America. 
As  I  had  overheard  a  chance  conversation,  I  felt  bound,  of 
course,  to  say  nothing  of  the  bracelet,  or  of  certain  other 
allusions  in  the  old  man's  discourse  which  had  puzzled  me. 

"  Some  do  be  sayin'  that  he  has  the  Evil  E\e,"  remarked 
the  landlord,  referring  to  Niall;  "and,  though  meself  doesn't 
hold  much  with  them  ould  notions,  there  may  be  somethin' 
in  what  tho;y  say,  after  all.  For  the  colleen  bringin'  you  into 
the  discoorse  mebbe  turned  his  ill-will  upon  you  and  caused, 
p'raps,  the  fall  you  had." 

I  smiled  at  this,  assuring  him  that  the  fall  had  a  very 
natural  caupa,  my  foot  having  caught  in  the  root  of  a  tree. 
But  I  could  see  that  he  was  still  unconvinced  and  regarded 
Niall  as  a  more  dangerous  individual  than  ever.  And,  find- 
ing it  useless  to  argue,  I  retired  to  my  room  to  think  over 
the  events  of  the  morning. 


A  SECOND  VISIT  TO  THE  CASTLE. 


S7 


CHAPTER  V. 

A   SECOND  VISIT  TO  THE   CASTLE. 

It  was  not  so  very  long  after  this  occurrence  that  led  on 
by  the  beauty  of  a  moonlight  night,  I  wandered  somewhat 
farther  than  usual  from  the  inn.  The  soft  radiance  of  the  full 
moon  was  streaming  down  ever  that  exquisite  landscape  I 
stood  and  gazed  at  a  tiny  stream  which  lay  sparkling  and 
shimmermg  with  magical  brilliancy;  and  as  I  did  so  I  saw 
commg  through  the  dark  masses  of  foliage  on  a  mountain 

'^J'w'-'/T  ^''  ^'''"'^  ^  ^^  ^^°'^  ^^^n  i"  "company 
w.th  Wmifred.  The  man's  outline  seemed  larger  and  more 
gaunt  than  before.  I  presume  this  was  due  to  the  uncertain 
flickenng  light  of  the  moon  through  the  trees 

An  impulse  urged  me  to  conceal  myself,  l"  slipped  into 
the  shadow  and  watched  Niall  approach,  with  a  curiosity 
which  was  full  of  awe.    His  head  was  up  in  the  air,  so  that 

oret^dTH  .    T""  ""?'"""''  °'  °'^  ^^°  '''''  *«  *tars  and 
pretended  to  discover  m  them  the  se.rets  of  the  future     It 

was  evident  that  he  was  making  some  calculation;  fo;  he 

stopped  from  time  to  time,  counting  rapidly  on  his  fingers. 

knelt  down.    He  peered  into  the  clear  depths  so  keenly  that 
^seemed  as    f  he  were  counting  the  pebh-s  on  the  bo'ttom 

so  tht  T  .'  '"""''"''  *°  '''"'^^"'  ''«'  -l^'t^  unintelligibly, 

so  that  I  caught  not  a  word.  At  one  point,  where  the  nVule 
was  sha,low.  he  felt  with  both  hands  very  carefully  forTme 
oTp^bSr  '"  '^"•^  """""^"^  '°^"  ^^^"  handfu'ls  of^ir; 


38  A  SECOND   VISIT  TO   THE  CASTLE. 

Suddenly  he  threw  up  his  arms  with  a  strange,  triumphant 
exultation;  and,  rushing  in  among  the  trees,  he  brought  out 
something  which  seemed  like  a  crock.  He  placed  i:  beside 
the  stream ;  and  then,  as  I  still  watched  and  waited,  his  jubila- 
tion gave  place  to  caution.  He  began  to  look  all  about  him, 
stooping  and  shading  his  eyes  with  his  hand  so  that  he  might 
better  penetrate  the  gloom,  while  he  turned  his  head  in  every 
direction.  I  wondered  what  he  would  do  if  he  should  discover 
me.  The  idea  was,  to  say  the  least,  uncomfortable  at  such 
a  time  a.id  in  such  a  place.  All  around  darkness  save  for  the 
light  of  the  moon ;  everywhere  the  intense  stillness  and  soli- 
tude of  a  rustic  neighborhood,  in  which  all  the  world  sleeps 
save  those  "who  steal  a  few  hours  from  the  night."  I  was 
alone  with  this  singular  being,  whose  wild,  grotesque  appear- 
ance was  enough  to  frighten  any  one;  and  once  I  thought 
I  saw  his  burning  eyes  fixed  upon  me  in  my  hiding-place. 

I  scarce  dared  to  breathe,  fearing  that  every  moment  he 
would  pounce  upon  me  and  drag  me  forth.  But  it  was  soon 
evident  that  he  did  not  see  me.  His  face  lost  its  watchful 
look,  and  he  advanced  once  more  toward  the  moon-whitened 
stream  where  he  had  left  his  crock.  He  cast  a  hasty  glance 
upward  and  I  heard  gealach—tht  Gaelic  word  for  the  moon 
—pass  his  lips,  coupled  with  that  of  Winifred;  and  then  he 
began  to  take  up  what  seemed  like  mud  from  the  bed  of  the 
stream,   filling  the   crock   rapidly. 

When  this  was  full,  he  seized  the  vessel  and  disappeared 
at  a  fearful  rate,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  up  the  steep  path  by 
which  he  had  previously  descended.  I  was  conscious  of  a 
great  relief  when  I  saw  him  vanish  in  a  turn  of  the  road;  for 
there  had  been  something  uncanny  even  in  the  huge  shadow 
which  he  cast  behind  him,  and  which  brought  out  the  weird- 
Bess  of  his  figure  and  of  his  garments,  as  well  as  of  his  won- 


A  SECOND  VISIT  TO  THE  CASTLE.  39 

derful,  sugar-loafed  hat.  I  was  afraid  to  come  out  from  my 
hiding-place  for  soi.ie  time,  lest  he  might  be  looking  down 
upon  me  from  some  dark  place  above. 

I  went  home,  with  a  firm  determination  to  discover,  if 
possible,  who  was  this  singular  person,  what  were  his  pur- 
suits, and  whence  he  had  come.     I   felt  that  on  Winifred's 
account,  at  least,  I  should  like  to  know  more  of  her  ill-chosen 
companion.    I  was  certain  that  the  landlord,  though  a  natural 
gossip  once  his  tongue  was  unloosed,  would  relapse  into  taci- 
turnity if  I  strove  to  make  him  throw  light  upon  this  mys- 
terious subject.     My  only  hope  lay  in  Granny  Meehan.     She 
seemed    a    reasonable    and    conscientious    woman,    certainly 
devoted  to  the  girl.    Therefore  I  would  appeal  to  her  to  dis- 
cover if  Niall  were  worthy  of  her  confidence,  if  his  dreamy 
and  unsettled  condition  of  mind  made  him  a  suitable  com- 
panion for  Winifred,  and  if  such  companionship  would  not 
disgust  her  with  the  realities  of  life,  prevent  her  from  acquir- 
ing a  solid  education  and  the  training  which  befitted  the  sta- 
tion to  which  I  believed  her  to  belong. 

I  had  become  deeply  interested  in  the  girl,  though  I  had 
not  as  yet  formed  the  project,  which  later  developed  itself, 
of  taking  her  with  me  to  America  and  putting  her  in  one  of 
the  pelebrated  convent  schools  there.  Her  condition  even 
then  seemed  to  me  a  sad  and  perilous  one:  her  only  guardian 
apparently  a  blind  woman,  who,  despite  her  devoted  affec- 
tion, had  neither  the  power  nor,  perhaps,  the  will  to  thwart 
Winifred  in  anything.  The  girl's  nature  seemed,  on  the  other 
hand,  so  rich  in  promise,  so  full  of  an  inherent  nobility,  purity, 
and  poetry,  that  I  said  to  myself,  sighing: 

"  No  other  land  under  the  sun  could  produce  such  a  daugh- 
ter—one who  in  such  surroundings  gleams  as  a  pearl  amongst 
dark  waters." 


40  A  SECOND  VISIT  TO  THE  CASTLE. 

I  paid  my  second  visit  to  the  castle,  therefore,  on  the  very 
day  after  my  moonlight  glimpse  of  the  mysterious  Niall.  It 
was  a  bright  morning,  flower-scented  and  balmy,  with  that 
peculiar  balminess,  that  never-to-be-forgotten  fragrance  of  the 
Irish  atmosphere  in  the  May  time  of  the  year.  I  stood  still 
to  listen  to  a  wild  thrush  above  me  as  I  neared  the  castle,  and 
the  thrilling  sweetness  of  its  notes  filled  me  with  something 
of  its  own  glee.  Winifred  was  in  the  old  courtyard  feeding 
some  chickens,  gray  and  speckled  and  white,  with  crumbs 
of  oaten  bread  and  a  bowlful  of  grain.  She  was  laughing 
gaily  at  their  antics  and  talking  to  the  fowls  by  name : 

"  No,  Aileen  Mor  I  You're  too  greedy :  you're  swallow- 
ing everything.  Gray  Mary,  you  haven't  got  anything. 
Here's  a  bit  for  you.  No,  no,  bantam  Mike,  you  can't  have 
any  more ;  let  the  hens  eat  something !  " 

The  large  speckled  fowl  that  Winifred  had  first  addressed 
stalked  majestically  to  and  fro,  snatching  from  its  weaker 
brethren  every  available  morsel;  while  the  little  ones  ran  in 
and  ouf,  struggling  and  fighting  in  the  most  unseemly  man- 
ner over  the  food  Winifred  let  fall. 

The  child,  on  seeing  me,  nodded  gaily. 

"  See,"  she  said,  "how  they  fight  for  their  food!    They're  ' 
worse  even  than  children !  "    Then  she  added  in  her  pretty, 
inquiring  way,  with  the  soft  modulation  peculiar  to  the  dis- 
trict:   "I  suppose,  now,   there  are  a  great  many   fowls  in 
America  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes !  "  I  replied—"  fowls  of  every  sort  I  think  you 
will  have  to  come  to  America  some  time  and  see  for  your- 
self." 

A  flush  passed  over  her  face,  making  it  rosy  red;  then 
she  said,  with  the  curiously  imperious  manner  which  I  had 
so  often  before  noticed : 


A  SECOND  VISIT  TO  THE  CASTLE. 


4» 


"I  am  going  there  some  time:  I  hai'e  to  go." 
She  turned  once  more  to  the  chickens,  silently  this  time; 
and  her  manner,  as  p  ain!y  as  possible,  forbade  me  to  ques- 
tion her.  No  child  had  ever  impressed  me  in  this  way  before. 
It  was  not  that  she  was  unchildlike  nor  what  might  be  called 
old-fashioned;  but  she  had  that  about  her  which  was  partly 
the  effect,  no  doubt,  of  the  peculiar  deference  with  which 
she  was  treated  by  the  blind  woman  and  by  Niall  the  wan- 
derer. 

"I  suppose  I  may  see  Granny?"  I  remarked;  and  she 
answered : 

"  Oh,  yes !    She  will  be  very  glad.    She  is  always  in  there 
near  the  hearth." 

I  was  glad  that  Winifred  showed  no  disposition  at  the 
moment  to  abandon  her  occupation  of  feeding  the  fowls ;  for  I 
wanted  to  have  at  least  a  few  words  with  good  Mrs.  Meehan  on 
the  subject  of  Winifred's  association  with  the  grotesque  per- 
sonage whom  local  tradition  seemed  to  invest  with  unusual  if 
not  unholy  powers.  I  passed  through  the  stone  passage,  and, 
entering  the  square  room,  found  the  blind  woman,  as  before 
m  statuesque  attitude  near  the  hearth,  where  on  this  occasion 
no  fire  was  burning,  its  place  being  filled  by  an  enormous 
bunch  of  clover,  placed  there  by  Winifred.  The  blind  woman 
recognized  me  the  moment  I  spoke. 

"You're  heartily  welcome,  ma'am!"  said  she,  smiling- 
and  we  went  on  to  exchange  a  few  commonplaces  about  the 
weather  and  so  forth. 

It  was  a  still  day  without,  and  we  heard  every  once  in 
a  while  the  voice  nf  Winifred  calling  out  her  commands  to 
the  fowls;  and  presently  she  was  in  conversation  with  some 
one  w'-.om  Mrs.  Meehan  explained  to  be  Moira,  thei  little 
maid-of-all-work. 


I  I  if' 


4*  A  SECOND  VISIT  TO  THE  CASTLE. 

"  Sure,  then.  Miss  Winifred,  we  might  go  the  night  with 
Barney  to  bring  home  some  of  the  sods  of  peat.  Barney 
will  be  havin'  the  cart  out,  an'  we  may  as  well  have  the  drive  " 
Moira  said.  ' 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  will  go,"  said  Winifred,  "  after  the  May 
prayers  at  the  chapel.  In,  going,  when  tea's  over,  to  pick  a 
great  posy  for  the  Blessed  Virgin's  altar.  But  it  will  be 
moonlight  and  we  can  go  after." 

"To  be  sure,  we  can.  miss,"  assented  Moira;  adding  the 
information  that  "Barney  got  a  power  of  fine  fish  the  day 
an  he  sold  it  all  at  Powersccur*,  barrin'  one  big  trout  that's 
for  yourself.  Miss  Winifred.  An'  the  gentry  over  there  gave 
him  two  shillin's,  but  he's  puttin'  them  by  to  take  him  to 
Ameriky. 

"Every  one  has  a  craze  for  America,"  said  Winifred's 
clear  voice.     "  Even  /  am  going  there  some  day." 

"  Musha,  then,  an'  I  hope  you'll  take  me  with  you  I  "  cried 
Moira,  coaxingly;  "  for  what  would  I  be  doin'  at  all  at  all 
without  yourself?"  ' 

"  We'll  see  when  the  time  comes,"  declared  Winifred  "  I 
might  take  you-that  depends.  But  you'd  better  not  say  any- 
thing about  it;  for  perhaps  if  people  got  talking  we  mightn't 
go  at  all. 

"I'll  be  as  secret  as-as  the  priest  himself  in  the  confes- 
sional! promised  Moira.  "An'  that's  secret  enough.  But 
I  can't  help  wonderin'  what  it  would  be  like  out  there?" 

"It's  a  splendid  place  they  say,  with  mountains  and 
rivers,     began  Winifred. 

"Sure  an'  we  have  enough  of  them  ourselves,  with  no 
disrespect  to  them  that  tould  you,"  said  Moira. 

"In  America  they  are  diflFerent,"  said  Winifred,  grandly 
"And,  then,  there  are  great  forests—" 


A  SECOND  VISIT  TO  THE  CASTLE. 


Ai 


Moira  scratched  her  head  dubiously. 
"  With  deer  and  Indians  in  them." 
"I'm  afeard  of  Indians,"  commented   Moira  promptly. 
"  I  read  a  terrible  story  about  them  once  in  a  book  that  lather 
Owep  gave  me." 

"Oh,  well,  we  shan't  be  very  near  them  if  we  go!" 
explained  Winifred.  "And  it  would  be  very  fine  to  see  them 
at  a  distance." 

"  I'd  rather  not  see  them  at  all,  if  it's  the  same  to  you, 
miss,"  declared  the  determined  Moira. 

"  The  deer,  then,  and  the  buffaloes  and  all  the  wild  ani- 
mals, and  grand  cities,  with  shops  full  of  toys  and  dresses 
and  beautiful  things." 

"Oh,  it's  the  cities  I'd  like  to  be  seein',  with  shops!" 
cried  Moira.  "We'll  keep  away  from  the  hills  and  streams, 
Miss  Winifred  asthore,  havin'  them  galore  in  our  own  coun- 
try. An'  we'll  keep  away  from  the  forests,  for  fear  it's  the 
wild  Indians  we'd  be  comin'  across." 

Her  tone  was  coaxing,  with  that  wheedling  note  in  it  pecu- 
liar to  her  race. 

"Oh,  it's  to  the  cities  I  must  go!  "  said  Winifred.  "  But 
I  don't  know  what  a  city  is  like,  Moira.  I  can't  make  a 
picture  of  it  to  my  eye.  It  is  a  big  place,  crowded  with  people, 
all  hurrying  by  in  a  stream;  and  the  shops—" 

"I  seen  a  shop  once!"  exclaimed  Moira.  "There  was 
things  in  the  window.  It  was  a  thread-an'-needle  shop  I 
think." 

"  There  are  all  kinds  in  big  cities,"  said  Winifred ;  "  and 
I  can't  make  pictures  of  them  either.  But  once  I  remember 
—I  just  seem  to  remember— a  strange  place.  Perhaps  it  was 
the  street  of  a  city,  with  shining  windows  on  either  side. 
A  gentleman  had  me  by  the  hand;  and  presently  he  put  me 


♦•  A  SECOND  yiSiT  TO  THE  CASTLE. 

before  him  on  .  horse  and  we  galloped  away,  and  I  never 
•aw  those  things  again." 

I  heard  these  artless  confidences  of  the  young  girl  in  the 
pauses  of  my  own  discourse  with  the  blind  woman,  who  heard 
them,  too,  and  sometimes  interrupted  our  talk  with-  "D'ye 
hear  that  now,   ma'am?"  or,  "The   Lord   love  her,  poor 
innocent !  *^ 

But  though  I  smiled  and  paused  for  an  instant  at  such 
moments,  I  did  not  allow  myself  to  be  turned  away  from 
he  mam  object  of  my  visit,  and  at  last  I  burst  boldly  into 
the  subject  which  was  occupying  my  mind. 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER. 


CHAPTER   VI. 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER. 

When  I  mentioned  the  strange  apparition  which  I  hart 
seen  with  Winifred  on  one  of  those  mountam  passes  over- 
looking the  Glen  of  the  Dargle,  I  saw  that  Granny  Meehan 
was  troubled  and  that  she  strove  to  avoid  the  subject. 

"  Winifred  seems  very  intelligent,"  I  remarked. 

"That  she  does,"  the  old  woman  assented  cordially. 
"  Times  there  be  when  I'm  afeard  she  knows  too  much." 

"Too  much?"  I  inquired. 

Granny  Meehan  nodded  as  she  added: 

"  Some  says  that  it  serves  me  right  for  lettin'  her  go  to 
school   so  long  to  the  mad   schoolmaster." 

Her  voice  sank  almost  to  a  whisper  as  she  said  the  last 
words. 

"The  mad  schoolmaster!"  I  repeated,  feeling  that  here 
was  no  doubt  the  clue  for  which  I  had  been  so  long  seeking. 

"Whist,  ma'am  dear!  Don't  speak  that  name  so  loud, 
—don't,  for  the  love  of  God!"  she  interposed  eagerly. 

"Why,  Mrs.  Meehan,"  I  said  warmly,  "you  are  too 
sensible  and  too  religious  a  woman  to  believe  all  the  nonsense 
that  is  talked  hereabouts." 

The  old  woman  shook  her  head  and  hesitated  a  moment. 

"  I'm  not  sayin'  that  I  believe  this,  that  or  the  other  thing," 
she  declared,  almost  dogge<!  "  but  at  the  end  of  life,  ma'am 
dear,  we  get  to  know  ;m  a  -e  are  people  and  things  it's 
best  not  to  meddle  wf    ." 


46  THE  SCHOOLMASTER. 

"Was  that  the  mad  schoolmaster  I  saw  with  Winifred?" 
I  asked— lowering  my  voice,  however,  in  deference  to  the 
caution  which  I  felt  angrily  disposed  to  call  superstition. 

"  Sure  I  suppose  'twas  himself  and  no  other,"  declared 
Mrs.  Meehan,  with  a  half  sigh.  "  Miss  Winifred  has  a  real 
heart-love  for  him;  and  sometimes  it  makes  me  uneasy, 
because  people  say  he's  too  knowledgeable  to  have  come  hon- 
estly by  his  wisdom.  There's  no  tellin'.  But  be  that  as  it 
may,  there's  no  other  evil  told  of  the  man.  He's  been  like 
a  father  to  the  poor  little  one  and  given  her  all  the  schoolin' 
she's  had." 

"He  is  a  schoolmaster,  then?"  I  asked. 

"  To  be  sure,  ma'am,  and  a  mighty  fine  one  entirely ;  so 
that  for  many  a  year  them  that  wanted  their  childer  to  have 
more  book-Ieamin'  than  they  have  themselves,  as  folks  do 
nowadays,  sent  their  gossoons  to  him,  and  the  girls  as  well. 
And  a  kind  and  good  master  he  was,  I'm  told :  never  a  cross 
word  passin'  his  lips.  And  a  fine  scholar,  with  a  power  of 
leamin'  in  his  head." 

"Does  he  still  keep  the  school?"  I  inquired  further. 

"He  doesn't,  ma'am,  more's  the  pity.  But  'twas  this 
way.  One  began  to  be  afeard  of  him,  sayin'  that  he  wasn't 
lucky;  and  another  began  to  be  afeard.  The  word  flew  from 
mouth  to  mouth,  till  but  few  enough  remained.  Then  of 
a  sudden  he  up  and  told  the  people  that  he  wasn't  goin'  to 
teach  no  more  in  the  hills  of  Wicklow;  and  he  closed  up  his 
school  and  off  with  him  for  a  month  or  so.  He  came  back 
again,  do  you  mind?  But  he  never  would  have  no  pupils 
except  Miss  Winifred.  And  when  the  people  seen  that  they 
tried  to  get  him  to  take  back  the  school.  But  it  was  all  of 
no  use:  he's  that  set  agin  it  that  Father  Owen  himself  could 
do  nothin'  with  him," 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER.  ^ 

"But  how  does  he  support  himself?" 

Granny  Meehan  turned  her  head  this  way  and  that,  listen- 
ing, to  be  sure  that  no  one  was  about;  then  she  leaned  toward 
me,  seeming  to  know  by  instinct  where  I  sat,  and  began 
impressively : 

"Oh,  it's  a  queer  kind  of  life  he's  led  since  then!  He 
still  has  his  cabin  up  in  the  Croghans — you  may  see  it  any 
day.  Sometimes  he's  there  and  sometimes  he  isn't ;  but  many 
a  tale  does  be  told  about  his  doin's  up  yonder.  There  was 
one  that  watched  him  by  night,  and  what  do  you  think  he 
seen?" 

I  could  not  imagine,  and  said  so. 

"He  saw  him  puttin'  stones  into  an  iron  pot,  like  this 
very  one  here  that  hangs  on  the  hob  for  the  potatoes." 

I  glanced  at  the  utensil  mentioned,  while  she  went  on  with 
her  tale. 

"  Well,  with  that  the  gossoon  that  was  spyin'  on  him  took 
to  his  heels  and  never  stopped  till  he  was  safe  at  home;  and, 
of  course,  the  whole  countryside  knew  of  it  by  the  momin'. 
And,  then,  the  schoolmaster  goes  wanderin'  round  in  the 
night  when  honest  folks  are  in  their  beds ;  and  kneelin'  down, 
they  tell  me,  by  the  water  side,  as  if  he  was.prayin'  to  the' 
moon  and  stars  or  to  the  fishes.  Now  I  ask  you  if  that's  fit 
conduct  for  a  Christian  man?"  , 

"  He  may  have  his  own  reasons  for  all  that,"  I  suggested. 
"Men  of  learning  and  science  do  many  strange  things." 

"  I'm  afeard  it's  for  no  good  he's  actin'  so,"  said  Granny, 
in  a  cautious  whisper.  "Some  will  have  it  that  he's  wor- 
shippin'  the  devil;  for  how  else  could  he  get  the  gold  and 
silver  they  say  he  has?  He  disappears  now  and  again,— 
vanishes,  as  the  story  is,  down  into  the  ground  or  into  some 
cave  of  the  hills,  and  comes  back  with  a  power  of  money  to 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER. 


bury  somewhere;  for  he  never  spends  it  honestly  like  other 
folks." 

I  pondered  over  the  woman's  narrative,  vainly  seeking  for 
an  explanation,  and  finally  setting  it  down  to  the  exaggera- 
tion of  the  simple  country  people.  Parts  of  it  tallied  with  my 
own  observations;  but,  of  course,  I  was  prepared  to  accept 
any  other  solution  of  the  mystery  than  that  which  was  popu- 
larly pven. 

"  The  main  thing,"  I  said,  "  for  you  to  consider  is  whether 
or  no  he  is  a  suitable  companion  for  Winifred.  Whatever 
his  pursuits  may  be,  I  believe  he  is  of  too  unsettled  and 
visionary  a  mind  to  have  a  good  influence  upon  the  child." 

"  Some  do  say,  of  course,  that  he's  mad,"  reflected  Mrs. 
Meehan ;  "  and  sure  ha  goes  by  the  name  of  '  the  mad  school- 
master.' " 

"  Such  may  be  the  true  state  of  the  case,"  I  said  musingly ; 
"  and  it  would  be  all  the  more  reason  for  preventing  his  con- 
stant association  with  Winifred." 

"  Mad  he  may  be,"  observed  Granny  Meehan ;  "  though 
you  daren't  say  that  much  to  Miss  Winifred.  She  ever  and 
always  stands  up  for  him.  When  the  scholars  were  leavin' 
the  school  above,  she  spoke  up  for  the  schoolmaster,  and 
didn't  spare  those  that  deserted  him.  So  from  that  day  to 
this  he  comes  here  every  day  of  the  week  to  teach  her." 

"  He  is  still  teaching  her,  then  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  To  be  sure,  he  is,  ma'am !  He  tells  her  that  she's  never 
too  old  for  the  learnin' — not  if  she  was  the  age  of  that  old  oak 
there  before  the  door." 

Granny  Meehan  fell  into  a  deep  and  apparently  painful 
reverie,  out  of  which  she  roused  herself  to  say,  apprehensively 
lowering  her  voice  to  the  utmost: 

"And,  ma'am,  what  makes  me  the  most  anxious  of  all  is 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER. 


« 


the  tnnkets  he  do  be  pVin'  her.  I'd  never  have  known  a 
word  about  .t  but  n.y  hearin'-praise  be  to  God  for  hTsTL 
ness  -.s  «,gh^  sharp,  even  though  I  haven't  the  ghT^f 
my  eyes;  and  heard  some  words  he  let  fall,  and  next  tS 
sound  of  metal  striking  against  metal,  like  the  tinkle  of  a 

"And  then?"  I  asked. 

on  "Tu  .""'"  ^  *"'''''  ^^'  ^'"'^'•^d  with  what  was  goin' 
on  and  she's  as  truthful  as  the  day  and  wouldn't  leny  notWn" 
So  she  up  and  told  me  of  the  beautiful  trinkets  of  real  g"d 
he  gave  her.     And  I  was  vexed  enough  at  it   and  bid  h.r 
throw  them  in  the  fire;  fearin'  mebbe Ihe     w^re  fai '^  go M 
that  would  be  meltin'  away,  leavin'  ill  luck  behind^  '  ' 
What  did  Winifred  say  to  that'" 
"  She  just  fired  up  and  bid  me  hold  my  peace,  for  a  wicked 
old  woman-she  did  indeed,  ma'am  "  ^^^"^ 

I  remembered,  while  Grannv  snoWp  fl,«  ^,-  *. 
fought  bracele;  which  I  ha/rVs^  rtTr^^ 

o  heaf  a,  r  r     /;  '"''  *^*  ''"°*'^''^^  *°  -^-^  and 
to^hear  all  that  the  old  woman  had  to  tell.     She  'presently 

"  Well,  ma'am,  when  he  comes  the  npvt  h,„  \xr  -t    ^ 
and  tells  him  what  she  did;  and  ^^i:rL^.^Ct;:.Z 
that  I  declare  to  you  I  wa<;  ir\oV,*^^^         ,  passion 

SnrI,  ,  -.   ■  .       J  inghtened  nearly  out  of  my  wits 

Such  a-ragin-  and  a-stampin'  as  went  on,  for  all  the  wo  Id 
hke  a  storm  roarin'  through  the  castle  L  fU       -H 


!     I 


SO 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER. 


scolded  him  for  his  bad  temper,  just  as  would  myself;  and 
stamped  her  foot  at  him.  And  the  next  thing  I  heard  him 
askin'  her  pardon,  quiet  as  a  lamb." 

"  She's  a  strange  child,"  I  exclaimed. 

"And  why  wouldn't  she  with  the  upbringin'  she's  had?" 
cried  Granny  Meehan.  "  But  don't  you  think  now,  ma'am 
dear,  that  it's  enough  to  make  me  heart  ache  with  trouble  to 
have  the  schoolmaster  bringin'  his  trinkets  here  ?  How  would 
he  come  honestly  by  such  things  ?  Not  that  I  believe  he  steals 
them,  ma'am — it  isn't  that." 

She  paused  in  her  perplexity ;  adding  quickly,  in  the  awe- 
struck tone  in  wl'i<  h  the  simple  people  of  the  remote  country 
districts  speak  oi  things  which  they  suppose  to  be  beyond 
mortal  ken: 

"  Sure,  then,  ma'am,  the  only  way  he  could  come  by  them 
is  through  the  old  fellow  himself,  barrin'  he  gets  them  from 
the  '  good  people.'  " 

"But  this  Niall  is  a  good  man,  is  he  not?" 

"  I  never  heard  ill  of  him  but  that  I'm  tellin'  you  of," 
replied  Granny  Meehan.  "  Still,  we're  warned  that  the  devil 
himself  can  take  on  the  likeness  of  an  angel  of  light ;  and  if 
that's  so,  what's  to  hinder  old  Niall  from  bein'  sold  body  and 
soul  to  the  devil  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  think  we'd  better  give  him  the  benefit  of  the 
doubt,"  I  said.  "  If  he  appears  to  be  a  good  man,  let  us  believe 
that  he  is." 

"Yes,  mebbe  you're  right,"  observed  Granny  Meehan. 
"And  the  Lord  forgive  me  for  speakin'  ill  of  my  neighbors! 
But  it's  all  out  of  my  anxiety  for  Miss  Winifred.  The  baubles 
may  come  not  from  the  powers  of  darkness  at  all,  but  from 
the  '  good  people ' ;  and  that  would  be  harmless  enough,  anv- 
how." 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER. 

•0.  .old  „.  „,„  ^  ii^-;; :."  •"  ~'  - .'» !»- 

-k  ™1ii,Sl".".- ;^™'"  *  — ■  ■■<■"■■ 

But  you   know." 
"  Is  it  /  know  ?  "  she  rri^H     "  t     .l  , 
«uch  things  ?  "  ^'  '*  '  ^''"'''  be  pryin-  into 

I  was  more  puzzled  than  ever     Th-.. 
in  Granny's  tone.  ^  "^^^  ="=*"«'  t^ror 

"How  absurd!"  I  said,  partly  vexed      ••  aa/i,  . 
can  th       ^        ^,  ^^^^^  yo^a^rLre'to  hit  iT^""^ 

She  leaned  toward  me    her  hUnH  »  ""taut, 

''ockets,  her  thin  lips  quivling'  '"   '°"'"^  '"  *^'^ 

"A  hint  I'll  give  you,"  she  «iH    "t«  i 
from  talkin-  foolishlv  La  .      '  ''^^P  y°"'  "'^bbe, 

stock.  I  beLjr!'  mv  hrart'°™     1°  "^""^     "^'^  "'  ^^e  old 
here/just  to  ke^"  Z  '  'T'  '"'''  *°  ^='"'^'  ^  ^"<=hanted 

^_I  Jaughed  aloud.     But  she  raised  her  hand  in  solemn 

sortr  °"'*  '"  '°"^  '"^-^°"'*  -f^^  g-e  of  things  of  that 

tienc^-whaJtV'  *^*  f''-"  '  ^^"'-  -'*"  ^^  ^P- 
about  this  maU"        ^'""'  '"""'°"  °'  ''^^--^^^  P^op'e 


5S  THE  SCHOOLMASTER. 

I  asked  'is  decisive  question,  though  I  had  a  pretty  fair 
notion  of  what  it  might  be  from  the  fragmentary  hints  of 
my  landlord. 

"Well,  it's  good  and  it's  bad,"  she  replied,  nodding  her 
head  impressively.  "Truth  to  tell,  there's  so  many  stories 
goin'  about  the  schoolmaster  that  it's  hard  to  know  the  right 
from  the  wrong.  There's  them,  as  I  was  sayin',  that  declares 
he's  mad,  and  there's  more  that'll  tell  you  he's  worse.  And 
mind  you,  ma'am  dear,  none  of  them  knows  about  the  trinkets 
I  was  speakin'  of,  barrin''  Miss  Winifred  and  myself.  For 
she  put  it  on  me  not  to  tell;  and  of  course  I  didn't  till  the 
blessed  moment  when  I  opened  my  heart  to  you,  knowin' 
well  that  you'd  never  let  a  word  of  what  I  told  you  pass  your 
lips." 

"I  shall  keep  the  secret,  of  course,"  I  promised;  adding: 
"As  to  the  man's  character,  the  truth  probably  lies  -omewhere 
between  the  two  opinions ;  but  I  still  think  him  an  unsuitable 
companion  for  Winifred,  because  he  is  likely  to  fill  her  head 
with  all  kinds  of  nonsense." 

"  It's  God's  truth  you're  tellin',"  said  the  old  woman. 
"But  Miss  Winifred's  that  fond  of  him  there's  no  use  in 
talkin'  agin  him." 

There  was  a  touch  of  bitterness  in  Granny  Meehan's  tone. 
It  was  evident  that  this  attached  nurse  resented,  in  so  far  as 
it  was  in  her  gentle  nature  to  resent,  her  young  charge's  par- 
tiality for  the  mysterious  old  man. 

"And  Miss  Winifred,"  she  continued,  "  sweet  and  all  as 
she  is,  can  be  as  wilful  as  the  wind.  She  has  known  the  old 
man  all  her  life,  and  he  tells  her  all  the  queer  stories  of  the 
mountains  and  glens  and  rivers ;  and  he  acts  toward  her  as  if 
she  were  a  grand,  fine  lady — and  so  she  is,  for  the  multer  of 
that;  for  the  child  comes  of  a  splendid  old  stock  on  both  sides." 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER. 


told :  the  massfve  stole  wl^^  1 1"\  '"  "'"'  '*  "''^  '^"'^ 

her-I  can  tell  by  t^e  so.2     /  T    ^"'^  *°  '^^  ^  ^"'"d  ^ 

you  that  she's  tat;'; veC:nSn'f  "''^"  ^''^  "^'"^ 
hsten."  ^  ^  ***  ■''""  *o  you— mebbe  she'd 

as  ZS  ^Z^^^  ^°r°"^  -  -«"e„ce  over  her 
good.    Itli^ZZXT''  °'  '  ^'""^^^  --'d  ^°  "o 

Meanwhile  I  shl  itlo  Lv  ""''^""^^  ''"*•  '^  '  «" 

find  out  all  I «;  i^uiTf  f  "rr-  -'• 

very  long  i„  the  neighborhood    for  r       "V  ''''"  "°*  *" 
Anierica  during  the  summer  "'  '"*""*  '^*"™'"^  *« 

M^htrSbrsi^r  <s^',?ir  '"^:v^'''  "-- 

there  I'd  be  goin'  Le  da;,  ^hen^  ,7  f  "^l,'"^'''-  't'^ 
as  if  afraid  to  sav  to«     •'y-  wnen—     she  stopped  abruptly, 

"Glory  be  to  (Jf^  "'S'!'-  """-^  *-  P'addly  continued       ' 

His  wLon,  He^n  L  J,    ''  '"''■"^'''  '*  -«^"'t  ^  be.    I„ 

A  smile,  SghTal;  30 T^r  ""  ''^  ""^^  *'"^  ^^  -" 

w  old  face  as^hi  ^i  u^:er^^,rr'  'f  "^  -^ 

wonder  and  admiration  at  her  faTh    'Ll;  "'       '  ^'* 


'!    i 


II 


S4 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER. 


jon,  had  swooped  down  to  earth  in  the  light  of  day.  I  soon 
perceived  my  mistake.  It  was  the  figure  of  the  schoolmaster 
which  had  thus  shut  out  the  sunlight,  and  I  imagined  there 
was  something  menacing  in  its  attitude. 


THE  OLD  CASTLE. 


« 


CHAPTER   VII. 

rHE  OLD  CASTLE. 

ramble  that  evenine  with   M«  .  !f      ^  ''^''  P^Posed 

bog  for  turf  sod^  "  '"'  ^"""^y-  ^-^  »«  the 

asth:S;:^J:Gr^^r    '^Z:^'^-'    ^^    ^^n,r., 
"  What  are  these  an^«  ?    J'   "  "'"*  '^  "°  *°*  f°--  you." 
a  pair  of  Jn'^TouTa^s    wS  ''^""^'=''  '^"'^'"^  °- 
strength  in  their  ever v  movem  ^t      A    7^"'^'  '"=^'"'  ''"'' 
thing  as  well  as  Barney  and  Mota  > 'S.T  f"^  '"'  ^°'"'^- 
"er  tone,   running  over  and         „g  h!  tft  '  '''  '''"''' 
agamst  the  wrinlcled  one  of  her  nurse     .Thr".^  ''^^"^ 
she  said,  "what  the  bog  will  Z  iZ     \u    I    "^'  ^'^"""y'' 
■     down  upon  it  making  fn      \      i      ""'^  ^''^  "^"o"  shining 
after  a  Thile  we  sh7,-u^   Zfo     "'f'^  ^'^=''°^^^  ^  ^^^^^ 
whip  up  his  roan  ho   e  andlinr  ""^      "''  '"'  ^^™^^  -" 
of  ghosts  and  fairies.''  "^    '  ''°"'''  ^'''^^""^  ^^  fear 

tall  as  a  wSlowf  ^'""^  ""''■  ''^^"'  straight  and 


S6  THE  OLD  CASTLE. 

"  I  told  you  I  was  going  to  America,"  she  said  coldly ; 
"  but  I  suppose  people  have  fancies  out  there  just  as  well  as 
we  have,  only  of  a  diflFerent  kind." 

There  was  a  touch  of  shrewdness  in  this  remark  which 
amused  me. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  you're  right,"  I  said.  "  But  such  things 
should  be  fought  against  everywhere — or,  at  least,  kept  in 
their  proper  place." 

"  Fought  against  I  "  cried  Winifred,  with  sudden  warmth. 
"And  what  would  the  world  'be  without  fancies  ?  Just  as  dull 
as  the  bog  without  the  moon." 

I  felt  that  in  a  measure  she  was  right,  but  I  said  nothing ; 
and  she  presently  added,  in  her  ordinary  tone: 

"  I  think  we  had  better  go  now  to  look  at  the  castle. 
Another  day  I  might  not  be  able  to  show  it  to  you." 

I  rose  at  once  to  accompany  her ;  and  then  she  added,  with 
a  half-petulant,  half-playful  air: 

"  I  suppose  you  will  only  care  to  see  the  bare  walls.  And 
that  won't  be  much;  for  it's  the  fancies  that  give  them 
beauty." 

"  Forgive  me,  Winifred !  "  I  said.  "And  show  me  the  old 
walls  with  your  own  light  upon  them — clothed  with  the  tapes- 
try of  your  own  fancy." 

Her  face  brightened  and  she  regarded  me  with  a  winsome 
smile,  saying: 

"  Come,  then,  and  I'll  tell  you  everything ;  and  you  may 
think  what  you  like  and  say  what  you  like.  I  won't  get  cross 
any  more.  And  if  you  talk  about  what  you  do  in  America, 
I  will  just  say  in  my  own  mind :  '  Oh,  I  suppose  they  have 
the  bog  without  the  moonlight  out  there;  and  if  they  are 
satisfied,  it  doesn't  matter  I '  " 

"She  is  indeed  too  old  for  her  years,"  I  thought;  "but 


THE  OLD  CASTLE. 

Winifred  reflected. 

"  Barney  would  not  object,  I  thinfc  "  .h-  a     ..  . 
>t  may  be  best  to  ask  him     w       T  ,        '  '''^"'"^-    "  ""» 
and  I  know  MoiA  wouTd  n^'  s7J  '"'  "'"'"'"'  "'*"  ^-•• 

<iow„  h  h^,  ,„,  kirberHeit:.:-?'  ^-^  ^-^  '■°'" 

after  all,  the  others  mi^ht  no*  J  5         W.mfred  said.    "And, 
better  come."  ^       °' '"'"''  ""*='"'■  «>  P^^haps  you  had 

woumT'  ''^  '"'  """^  "'  '-'  '^^'^^  "-  -^.1  .hat  I 

-  Z  i^rt;.;:.^  ^'""^•"^  "^'^'^  '^  -•««•    And  here 

-.^rio^ar^iUMtr  rj;  "•  '°"^  ^*-«  ^^-^^^ 

left  Granny  M^In    Lh  .  I*^  *'  '°°'"  ^"ere  we  had 

and  grew.^ore^^;,  "o^;?  *^^^^^  *"-  ^^  -»-est  grew 
that  we  dared  not  emer  »„h      ,  ''*'*  ''""*'  ^"'"O"*-  «> 

Here  owk  and  bats  hZZ^l  T"' ''^"'^^'''^ ''^'^y- 

m.  with  bated  b^l' tt"  S  '  Jltj  ?;,''  ^^^^'^  ^'^ 
time  at  midnight  or  knights  with  crnkSl  f  I'"'  °"'^" 

came  to  halls  into  which  stream  J  I  ^Th    ^^'"  ^' 
nimous  roofs.  *  *  °*  heaven  from 

"We   have   games   of   hide-and-seek   in    .^       , 
rooms."  said  Winifred,  laughing      -^Oh  .°^  ^""^ 

Moira  and  me  tearing  ;bout  her^","         '  "°"  °"^^'  *°  ^« 


r!f 


SB 


THB  OLD  CASTLE. 


We  mounted  at  last  to  the  donjon  and  looked  down  upon 
the  moat,  which  was  grass-Krown ;  and  upon  the  sally-ports 
in  the  walls  and  the  battlements,  time-stained  and  covered  in 
places  with  ivy,  the  growth  of  centuries. 

"  They  used  to  give  battle  in  those  days,"  said  Winifred. 
"Wasn't  it  fine  to  mount  the  flag  on  this  tower  and  say  to 
invaders  that  you  would  die  before  you  gave  up  the  castle  ?  " 
Her  cheek  glowed,  and  she  tossed  back  the  curls  which  were 
tumbling  about  her  foreheadi  "And  then  the  trumpets  would 
be  sounding  down  below,  and  the  horses  of  the  knights  neigh- 
ing, their  lances  shining,  their  banners  waving.  Oh,  I  wish 
I  had  lived  at  that  time  I " 

Her  words  had  called  up  a  vivid  picture  from  the  past, 
and  for  a  moment  I  stood  and  let  my  eyes  wander  out  far 
over  the  hills.  But  Winifred  called  to  me,  and,  taking  my 
hand,  led  me  down  the  winding  stairs  again.  After  that 
we  went  in  and  out  of  a  succession  of  apartments,  bewilder- 
ing in  their  number  and  size ;  all  bare,  lofty,  stone-walled  and 
stone-paved.  Here  and  there  a  faded  tapestry  ctill  lingered, 
or  a  banner  fluttered  in  the  breeze  which  stole  in  through 
many  a  crack  and  cranny.  At  each  pause  which  we  made 
my  gfuide  was  able  to  tell  me  some  entrancing  story,  some  bit 
of  legendar)-  lore  which  had  all  the  charm  of  reality. 

"  If  you  know  about  the  Red  Branch  Knights,"  said  Wini- 
fred, "  you  must  have  heard  of  Cuchullin." 

"  He  is  the  Lancelot  of  Irish  romance,"  I  assented. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  anything  about  Lancelot,"  replied 
Winifred. 

"  It  doesn't  matter  for  the  moment,"  I  said.  "  Lancelot 
was  a  knight  of  great  valor,  always  doing  noble  deeds." 

"  So  was  Cuchullin !  "  cried  Winifred,  eagerly.  "  Oh,  I. 
could  tell  you  wonderful  things  he  did,  even  as  a  boy!" 


—•I, 


THE  OLD  CASTLE. 
"Tellmeone.atanyrate.-lplcade,!. 

for  the  great  Kine  ConJir  ^"^  ^'^'"K  »  ^'^^ 

smith  hfd  let  o  t  a  Z  oL"  7"  I'V""''  ""•^'"^>-  ^•''^• 
Him  that  Cchuni:  trcS  The^^bo?"  '°^^"  '°  "^" 
battle  to  the  hound  and  slew  Wm  WK  '  ."""'  ""''  «^"^^' 
out  that  his  hound  was  dead  hJ  .    "  '^'  '""*''  ^°""'> 

the  dog  had  tended  hrSo^  I'j  h^d?Vh7j?'  '^^'"■^^ 
to  watch  the  cattle  an,i  7  ?  ^  '^>'  ^^^n  oflFered 

strength  CO  d  tUd  ^k!"^'"  *'''  \ ''°""''  °^  ^1-1 
Cu-Culann.  or  the  doe  of ^he  1"'*^  *'''"  '^  ^"  '=^"^'' 
dogs  and  .en  in  de^L^  herile  "bu^I"  ^^  •^"' 
very  brave  boy;  and  oh   it  is  /fi       ^  "  ^'"'  ^^  ^''^  » 

^     "And  to  :.  it  wtlus'  r  ^oy'irCt  in^^T^^^^ '  " 
he  grew  up  to  be  as  good  and  brave  a  J„'"    "       '  ""'"" 

stopped  abruptly;  and'::;LT  T^  rr:;7'"'^-" 

her  voice.  **  ""t"  awe  in 

"  Perh.„c  r  ?     .  ^  >'°"  ''"°«'  "-''o  Finn  was?  " 

I  repHed    '^^  '^  '^  *'*=  ^^'"'^  '^  '''^  P'"^«'  o^  the  Sc^h." 

"Perhaps  so,"  said  Winifred,  indifferentlv ■  "h  .  t    .     - 
know  anything  about  Fingal.     This  Finn  f     ^  ^  * 

called  the  Fianna  Eirrinn      H     ''"^P;""  f°"ndcd  an  order 

haired,  the  fleet  and  v„„g  ".Xf^^'^''^  ^°''^"- 
Jived  on  the  Hill  of  W"         ^     '  "^  *^'«  '=°"'«^.  who 


«o  THE  OLD  CASTLE. 

It  was  quaint  to  hear  Winifred  telling  these  legend!^  or 
bits  of  ancient  history  in  exactly  the  same  language  in  which 
some  older  person  had  told  them  to  her.  I  asked  her  to 
explain  what  kind  of  an  order  it  was  that  this  legendary  hero 
had  founded;  and  she  told  me  it  was  a  military  order  of 
knights  who  had  sworn  to  defend  the  kingdom  against  foreign 
foes.  She  added  that  Finn  possessed  the  gifts  of  poetry,  of 
healing,  and  of  second-sight — the  latter  from  a  fairy  into 
whose  palace  he  had  succeeded  in  thrusting  one  hand. 

"  It  is  really  wonderful  hpw  you  can  remember  all  these 
old  stories ! " 

"  Niall  has  been  telling  them  to  me  ever  since  I  was  a 
little  child,"  replied  Winifred;  "and  I  remember  a  great 
many  more.  In  that  hall  downstairs  which  you  see  from  this 
gallery,  the  harper  sang  to  a  great  company  about  the  mines 
in  these  hills  and  the  golden  treasures  buried  in  the  earth — " 
She  stopped  abruptly,  as  if  frightened,  looking  at  me 
intently.  But  at  the  time  her  words  conveyed  very  little  to 
my  mind  except  the  poetic  idea. 

"  In  that  same  great  hall  down  there,"  said  Winifred, 
"  used  to  be  set  up  '  the  caldron  of  hospitality.'  Every  one 
that  came  was  fed.  Princes,  nobles,  minstrels,  servants,  pil- 
grims, beggars — each  had  a  place  at  the  big  tables  which 
used  to  be  there."  She  paused  and  looked  down,  as  if  she 
could  see  the  brilliant  scene  before  her.  "  In  the  middle  of 
the  room  there,"  she  cried,  "  the  chief  Conal  was  warned  by 
the  spirit  who  watches  over  the  castle  that  he  was  to  die  that 
day.  He  was  very  strong  and  brave  and  beautiful,  and  he 
didn't  fear  death  a  bit.  He  went  to  meet  it;  and  in  a  battle, 
beside  King  Brian,  he  was  killed  by  a  Dane." 

We  passed  on,  pausing  at  a  great  chamber,  with  windows 
ivy-hung,  giving  out  upon  that  exquisite  scenery  which  has 


THE  OLD  CASTLE. 


"f "  famous  the  name  of  Wicklow. 
nills,  whencr 


I  looked 


out 


6i 
the 


:  over 
with  a  golden"h7zr  """  ""  ""■"^'  '^''^""^  ">-  '""niined 

"■^^^^-  ^"■^«^^''  Winifred  remarked. 

^  "A.,  good  ci^:Scsr27  JtJ  ".r  °"vr'"- 

Americans."  '     ^  **'"'     «ven  if  they  are 

"  Of  course  this  is  a  lewnd  "  w  -t    j 
Father  Owen-my  dear VX     >.  "^  ^''"*  °";  "and 

the  legends  told  of'tll  sain'^^;'"  °"'=r*°''  ""^  *^*  "«  -" 

::isHou,d„ketoVe::t"rr::;:^:^---^^^ 

Once  St.   Bridget  wa«  nn  ,    ■ 
Pinions,  and  stopped  to  ask  hoi!  r^T  ^'^  *°'"*  ~n,- 
away  with  his  hi^rfor  i„  oM  r '  ""'  ''''  "'''''■    "«=  -- 
had  a  harper.    Bur*;  Zl  1  '""'^  ^"^^  '^^''"n 

brought  in  their  guests  to  he  ha^  T  '*  ''°'"^'  ''"''  ^^^^ 
for  them.  While^hey  were  at  1..'"'''''  ''"*  '^  '^^q-'et 
at  the  han,s  and  aske^thTsl  to  'v  T  ^"'^  '""''^  "^ 
replied:  'Alas-  honored  i;  l^^t""  ""' ""''=•  ^"'^^ 
harper,  and  neither  my  brother  Z  .r  !'  ^"^^^  ^'*  «"'• 

But  if  you  will  bless  our  fin'  "'''"^  '""'  ^'^"  '«  "^ic 

Bridget  then  touctd  the  r  fi„  ^"f'  '''  *°  ^'^'^^  y--' 
and  when  the  bro^J  s  s^  dowft^  tr'h  ^^  ^  °^  "^^  -"' 
n'usic  as  was  never  heard  IS  iVn  T  '^''  P'^'^^'^  ""^h 
and  he  stood  spellbounTai  the  "  *'  *"**  *='''^^  '^^  ■« 

were  bnn^ng'^romTVa'r^  T«  -"^jf  ^^?  "^^  ^ 
much,  for  thev  harf  „.         ,       .    "s*-     He  wondered  very 

St.  Bridgett'u'dtr;  ?r.  '^'°"=-    ""*  -"-  ''^  - 
This  old  castle  is  full  of  beautiful  legends"  T    k 
Yes."  said  Winifred.    "Niall  ,J.  u        .         °^"'^''<i- 
'*"  says  he  isn't  sure  that  all 


62 


THE  OLD  CASTLE. 


these  things  happened  in  this  castle.  He  says,  perhaps  the 
minstrels  or  some  one  collected  them  from  a  good  many  castles 
and  pretended  that  they  all  happened  here.  There  are  such 
a  lot  more  I  could  tell  you  if  there  was  time,  but  it  is  getting 
dark." 

It  was  true ;  the  dusk  was  creeping  over  the  hills  and  down 
into  the  valleys,  like  some  spirit  of  peace,  causing  all  toil  to 
cease  and  bidding  all  nature  rest. 

"If  you  will  promise — oh,  promise  faithfully  I— not  to 
say  a  word  to  any  one  nor  tp  ask  too  many  questions,  I  will 
show  you  something,"  said  Winifred  suddenly. 

"I  suppose  I  must  promise,"  I  said. 

And  then  she  led  me  into  a  wing  of  the  house  which  was 
in  astonishingly  good  repair. 

"The  rooms  here  are  all  furnished,"  she  remarked  cas- 
ually, "because  people  lived  here  once." 

She  did  not  say  who  and  I  did  not  ask.  Finally  she  opened 
the  door  of  a  small  room  adjoining  the  kitchen  in  which 
Granny  Meehan  still  sat  solitary. 


WINIFREDS  TREASURES. 


63 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
Winifred's  treasures. 

neatl^ss  Te  '"*°.  "'"'  '^™'"'  '^*^  ""'  ^^  ^  -"od^'  of 
sin  K  '""■^'"  "P°"  *•'"  ^*'"'°^'  *^  <^°ver  upon  the 

small  bureau  were  of  snowy-white;  and  the  counterpanT"in 
th^^bed  was  blue-and-whlte  patchwor.-a  piece  oTTJ^^^" 

explafned"'4?  '^  ''?"""  '''°"  ^"^  ^°*  ''""^'"  Winifred 
upon  anothe;  chat  he -cH^^^^^^^^^^^^  ^"f'  ~«"^ 

l"k.ng  up  .,  „,  „|,h  k„  k^^j,  ^^         "»■    *«  >".<1, 
I  .n.;Z."""  ^"^  '™'"''  "  '"  P""'"  «•'«  cke.,.- 


fii  WINIFRED'S  THEASURES. 

right  casket  should  win  her.  Each  suitor  had  to  guess.  The 
first  of  those  caskets  was  gold — " 

"  Oh,  you  knew  before  I "  interrupted  the  girl. 

"Knew  what?" 

"  I  don't  understand  how  you  could  have  guessed  so 
quickly." 

"  But  I  have  guessed  nothing,"  I  said.  "  I  only  mentioned 
that  the  first  casket  was  of  gold." 

"  Oh,  I  thought  you  meant  to  tell  irse  in  that  way  that 
you  knew  what  was  in  my  box!"  Winifred  explained. 

I  stared  and  she  suddenly  witlidrew  the  cover.  My  eyes 
were  almost  dazzled. 

"There  is  gold  in  my  box, — real  pure  gold,"  said  the 
young  girl. 

And  gold  there  was,  amazing  both  in  quality  and  quantity. 

Winifred  saw  my  astonishment,  with  innocent  triumph. 

"  Look  at  that ! "  she  said,  detaching  from  the  mass  of 
shining  m-^l  a  crown,  which  she  held  up  for  my  inspection. 
While  I  looked  she  drew  forth  several  other  articles,  all  of 
peculiar  make  but  of  dainty  and  delicate  design,  some  more 
richly  wrought  than  others.  There  wvre  collars,  biwches, 
rings,  bracelets, — ^thin  bracelets,  such  as  were  worn  in  the 
olden  days  by  kings  and  warriors. 

"  My  dear,"  I  said,  "  this  is  wonderful— like  some  Irish 
edition  of  the  'Arabian  Nights.'  I  feel  as  if  I  had  got  into 
the  cave  of  the  Forty  Thieves  or  some  such  place.  Where 
on  earth  did  thoae  things  come  from?" 

"  I  can't  answer  questions,"  Winifred  said;  "but  I  wanted 
you  to  see  them,  they  are  so  beautiful  and  so  very  oH.  Ocs»- 
sionally  I  take  them  out  to  play  with  tiiem." 

"  Costly  playthings !  "  I  rrummred.  "And  since  they  arc 
so  old,  how  did  they  come  to  be  so  bright?" 


WINIFREiys  TREASURES.  ^ 

Winifred  grew  red  as  she  explained: 
Somebody  polishes  them  with  stuff  to  make  them  bright 
but  you  mustn't  ask  who."  *^  *' 

"But.  my  dear  child.  I  ought  to  tell  you  that  I  know 

The  flush  faded  from  the  girl's  face.  leaving  it  very  pale 
^       Ah.      must  have  betrayed  his  secret,  then  I"  she  cried 
He  trusted  me  and  I  was  false!  " 
"Yon  have  not  done  so  intentionally.    I  was  in  the  wood 
one^day  when  you  were  given  a  bracelet-" 

fr^rf  .JT-        °'^^"'^*-  ''«'^ause  you  never  spoke  of  it,"  Wini- 
fred sa.d.  .n  such  real  distress  that  I  was  oniranxious'toTl- 

"You  need  not  be  afraid.    Since  you  trust  me  so  far  as 
1  snau  Keep  the  rest  of  the  secret." 

"That  is  different,"  observed   Winifred      "He  toM   ^ 

over  and  sit  near  me."  *  ^        ^°°' 

She  did  so.  her  dark  curis  almost  resting  on  my  Ian 

She  shook  her  head. 

"No;  Tf^i""'  *°  '^'  ^"•^^*^°"^'"  ''he  exclaimed. 

hcTstlytlfe  by?     "^  ^°"  ^""  *^*  *-  °™~  are 
Wimfr«i  sprang  to  her  feet,  her  face  crimson  as  upon 


66 


WINIFREffS  TREASURES. 


that   day   when   I   had   made   the   blunder   about   Granny's 
sight. 

"  For  shame  I "  she  cried—"  for  ihame  I  How  could  you 
think  of  such  a  thing?  Niall,  who  is  so  good  and  who  is 
giving  his  whole  life  for  one  purpose ! " 

I  did  feel  unaccountably  ashamed  of  myself. 

"  You  must  remember  that  I  do  not  know  Niall,"  I  argued. 

"  Do  you  think  evil  of  people  without  even  knowing 
them  ?  "  Winifred  cried  impetuously.  "  If  that's  the  way  they 
do  in  America,  I  don't  want  to  go  there,  and  I  won't  go  there." 

"  It  is  the  way  of  the  world,  as  you  will  find  when  you  are 
older,"  I  replied  somewhat  sharply ;  for  I  was  vexed  at  being 
put  in  the  wrong  by  this  child.  Having  been  treated  with 
deference  by  all  about  her  since  her  infancy,  she  knew  little 
of  the  respect  due  to  those  who  were  older;  and  only  such 
religious  training  as  she  had  received  from  Father  Owen, 
with  an  innate  sense  of  propriety  and  a  natural  courtesy, 
prevented  her  from  being  that  most  objectionable  of  beings 
— a  spoiled,  selfish  child. 

I  saw  that  Winifred  was  already  ashamed  of  her  vehe- 
mence, and  I  pointed  to  the  stool  at  my  feet 

"  Sit  down  again,  little  one,"  I  said,  "  and  let  me  finish 
what  I  have  to  say;  for  I  think  it  is  my  duty  to  speak  out." 

She  obeyed  in  silence,  and  after  a  brief  pause  I  went  on: 

"  This  is  how  it  all  appears  to  me,  or  would  appear  to  any 
one  of  experience.  The  man  Niall  seems  poor,  leads  a  strange, 
solitary  life,  and  yet  he  gives  you  articles  of  great  value. 
There  is,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  a  mystery  as  to  how  he  pro- 
cures them." 

Winifred  said  not  a  word,  but  sat  still  with  downcast 
eyes. 

"And,  since  I  am  upon  the  subject,"  I  added,  "  I  may  as 


WINIFREDS  TREASURES.  (^ 

wdl  tell  you  that  he  is  not,  in  my  opinion,  a  suitable  com- 
pamon  for  you." 

"Not  a  suitable  companion!"  the  girl  repeated,  raising 
her  eyes  to  my  face  in  astonishment.  "  Niall,  who  has  taught 
me  nearly  everything  I  know!  Why,  if  it  had  not  been  for 
him  I  should  have  been  as  ignorant  as  Moira.  I  love  him 
as  if  he  were  my  father." 

•^He  has  taught  you  a  great  deal  that  is  wild  and  vision- 
ary, I  argued.  "  You  know  nothing  of  the  realities  of  life 
You  are  content  to  lead  this  wandering,  aimless  existence! 
when  hfe  has  real  duties,  and,  as  you  must  find,  real  cares  and 
sorrows." 

This  reproach  seemed  to  touch  her;  for,  with  one  of 
those  strange  flashes  of  intuition,  she  seemed  at  once  to  catch 
my  meaning. 

"But  how  can  Niall  help  that?"  she  cried.  "He  has 
been  very  kind  to  me.  He  told  Granny  to  teach  me  my  pray- 
ers, and  took  me  to  Father  Owen  himself,  so  that  I  could  go 
to  confession  and  make  my  first  communion;  and  he  spends 
hs  whole  hfe  working  for  me.    What  should  I  do  without 

h!  Wind  "  °°  °"'  "'"  """^  **"*'  °'**  ^^^J''  ^^  *>>« 

c  TT:  T  *°'"'=*'"»  «>  P«*etic  in  the  way  all  this  was 
said  that,  almost  mvoluntarily,  the  tears  came  into  my  eyes 
I  b^n  to  realize  that  the,  man  had  done  and  was  doing 

lTlT.t  ?  **'  ''*'''  °^  "•"'  disregarded  treasures 
I  formed  the  resolve,  m  spite  of  all  difficulties,  to  take  the 
child  with  me  to  America.  She  might  return  later  to  be  the 
guardian  spint  of  this  old  home  and  to  repay  Niall  and 
good  Granny  Meehan  for  the  devotedness  with  which  they  had 
watched  over  her  childhood.    But  she  must  first  acquire  that 


68  WINIFRED'S  TREASURES. 

knowledge  of  the  world,  the  real  world  of  her  own  day,  in 
which  she  was  now  so  deficient. 

There  was  little  reason  to  doubt  from  her  appearance  that 
she  was  indeed,  as  Granny  Meehan  had  said,  of  a  fine  old 
stock.  Therefore  she  must  be  educated  as  a  lady.  I  should 
try,  if  possible,  to  solve  the  mystery  concerning  her  parents ; 
and  then  I  should  take  her  with  me  to  the  great  country 
beyond  the  seas,  where  the  wildest  dreams  are  occasionally 
realized;  and  where,  at  least,  there  is  opportunity  for  all 
things.  I  knew,  however,  that  this  would  mean  diplomacy. 
If  I  were  to  broach  the  subject  to  her  just  then,  she  would 
probably  refuse  to  come.  I  must  first  win  her;  and  I  must 
gain  the  confidence  of  Niall,  if  that  were  at  all  possible.  He 
would  understand  far  better  than  this  child  of  nature  the 
advantages  of  a  journey  to  the  New  World  and  of  a  good 
education  there. 

"  I  wish  you  knew  Niall ! "  Winifred  said,  with  a  sudden- 
ness which  startled  me,— it  was  so  like  the  echo  of  my  own 
thoughts. 

"I  wish  so  too!"  I  replied  fervently. 
"  But  it  is  very  hard.    He  does  not  like  strangers ;   and 
he  seems  to  dislike  people  from  America  most  of  all." 
"That  is  very  unfortunate!"  I  said,  laughing. 
"Yes,"  assented  Winifred.     "Still,  he  might  like  some 
of  them  very  well — if  he  knew  them." 

She  said  this  with  the  utmost  simplicity.  I  did  not  tell 
her  that  I  was  going  to  seek  Niall's  acquaintance;  for  I 
feared  she  might  warn  him  and  he  might  disappear,  as  was 
his  wont  from  time  to  time,  or  take  other  means  of  prevenv 
ing  me  from  carrying  out  my  purpose.  I  told  her,  instead, 
that  I  must  be  going;  that  I  had  had  a  most  delightful  day 
and  was  charmed  with  her  castle  and  her  legends. 


JVmiFRBiys  TREASURES.  69 

"How  grand  it  must  have  been  when  it  was  a  real  castle," 
she  said;  "and  when  there  was  an  abbey  near  by,  with  a 
church,  and  the  monks  singing!  It  was  one  of  the  race  who 
founded  that  abbey,  in  thanksgiving  for  having  been  saved 
from  great  danger." 

"Ah,  those  were  the  days  of  faith!"  I  exclaimed.    "And 
whatever  evil  the  people  did  they  repaired  it  nobly  by  pen- 
ance and  by  the  great  monuments  they  built  up." 
As  we  turned  to  leave  the  room  I  asked  Winifred: 
'•Are  you  going  to  leave  all  these  valuable  things  here?" 

Why,  of  course!"  she  answered  in  surprise. 
"  Can't  you  ever  lock  them  up? " 
Winifred  burst  out  laughing. 

''Lock  them  up!"  she  said.    "Why  should  I  do  that?" 
'  To  save  them  from  being  stolen." 
"As  if  anything  was  ever  stolen  here!    I  can  assure  you 
there  isn  t  a  robber  in  the  whole  countryside." 

"Why,  that  is  as  wonderful  as  your  treasures!"  I 
exclaimed,  as  we  went  in  to  where  Granny  Meehan  sat  as 
usual,  placidly  by  the  fire,  a  great  cat  purring  and  rubbing 
Its  furty  sides  against  her  gown.  The  animal  fixed  on  me  that 
glance  of  grave  scrutiny  with  which  these  feline  creatures 
appear  to  read  one's  whole  history,  past,  present  and  to  come  • 
after  which  she  arched  her  back  and  lay  down  near  the  hearth 
Wmifred  walked  down  with  me  a  piece  of  the  way  after 
I  had  said  farewell  to  Granny  Meehan,  who  had  heard  my 
glowing  praises  of  the  castle  with  flushed  cheeks,  down  which 
stole  a  tear  or  two  of  pride.  When  we  were  parting.  Wini- 
fred remarked  wistfully: 

"I  think,  perhaps,  Niall  and  I  are  diflFerent  from  anv 
other  people.  But  it's  no  use  trying  to  change  us:  we  shall 
always  be  the  same." 


T> 


A  MOONLIGHT  EXPEDITION. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


A  MOONLIGHT  EXPEDITION. 

It  was  a  lovely  night  when  I  set  out  with  the  merrymakers 
to  the  bog  in  search  of  peat  Barney  was  full  of  drollery, 
a  typical  Irish  lad  such  as  I  had  not  seen  in  Wicklow  before ; 
and  Moira,  though  at  first  fulfilling  Winifred's  predictions 
by  sitting  silently  with  her  heels  kicking  together  where  they 
hung  out  of  the  cart,  and  her  head  hanging  down,  after  a 
while  awoke  to  the  spirit  of  fun  and  frolic  that  was  abroad. 

"Ah,  then,  Danny  avick,  will  you  move  on  I  "  cried  Barney 
to  the  horse.  "  Is  it  standin'  still  you'd  be,  yon  Tory,  and 
Miss  Winifred  in  the  cart  and  the  strange  lady  from  Amer- 
ica?" 

The  horse  seemed  moved  by  this  adjuration,  as  well  as  by 
a  touch  of  the  whip,  and  trotted  along  the  shining,  silent 
road. 

"I  should  enjoy  a  run  with  Moira  on  this  road!"  said 
Winifred. 

"Get  down,  then,  and  have  your  run,"  I  answered. 
"  Barney  and  I  will  easily  keep  you  in  sight." 

"  You  will  not  mind  if  I  leave  you  for  a  little  while  ?  " 
asked  Winifred. 

"No,  indeed,  dear.  Barney  and  I  will  entertain  each 
other." 

Barney  pulled  up  the  horse. 

"Be  still,  you  spalpeen,"  he  cried,  "and  let  Miss  Wni- 
f  red  down !  " 


A  MOONLIGHT  EXPEDITION.  7, 

The  horse,  nothing  loath,  stood  still. 

Winifred  leaped  lighUy  to  the  ground,  followed  more 
clumsily  by  Moira. 

"Ah,  then,  Moira,"  exclaimed  her  brother,  "will  you  be 
all  night  gettin'  out  of  the  cart?" 

Moira  made  no  answe..  Her  red  cheeks  were  aglow  with 
delight  at  the  prospect  of  escaping  for  a  time  from  my  embar- 
rassmg  company  and  having  a  run  along  the  grass-bordered 
road. 

Winifred  stopped  a  moment  or  two  to  pet  the  horse. 

"  Poor  Danny !  "  she  said.  "  Barney  is  always  calling  you 
names.     But  you  don't  mind;  do  you,  Danny?" 

The  horse  seemed  to  answer  that  he  did  not  in  the  least, 
rubbing  his  nose  against  the  child's  arm  in  a  gratified  way.' 
Then  Winifred  gave  the  word,  and  together  the  two  girls 
were  off,  their  happy  voices  coming  back  to  us  as  we  drove 
leisurely  along  in  the  soft,  balmy  air.  They  stopped  now  and 
agam  to  pick  flowers  from  the  hedge  or  to  seek  out  daisies 
and  wild  violets  in  the  fresh  grass;  while  Barney  kept  up  a 
series  of  droll  remarks,— sometimes  addressed  to  the  horse, 
sometimes  to  me. 

"  I  hear  you're  thinking  of  taking  a  trip  to  America,  Bar- 
ney," I  remarked. 

"  True  for  you,  ma'am— between  now  and  Doomsday.  I'm 
afeard  it  will  be  that  long  before  I  get  the  passage  money 
together." 

"  Why  should  you  be  so  anxious  to  leave  this  beautiful 
country  ?  "  I  said. 

"Why?"  exclaimed  Barney,  casting  a  shrewd  glance  at 
me.  "  Oh,  then,  sure  it's  meself  that's  had  enough  of  beauty 
without  profit  I  want  to  go  where  I'll  get  paid  for  my  work 
and  be  able  to  hold  up  my  head  with  a  dacent  hat  upon  it "' 


I 


7»  A  MOOSLICHT  EXPEDITION. 

As  he  ipoke  he  took  off  and  surveyed  his  own  head-cover- 
ing, which  was  of  the  kind  described  but  too  accurately  as 
a  caubeen.  I  could  not  help  laughing  at  the  gleam  of  humor 
which  shot  out  of  his  eyes — good  eyes  they  were,  too. 

"  Oh,  you  villain  of  the  world,  is  it  straight  into  the  hedge 
you  want  to  drive  the  lady  from  America?  What'U  she  be 
thinkin'  of  you  at  all  for  an  unmannerly  beast?" 

The  animal,  being  unable  to  answer  these  reproaches, 
shook  out  his  mane  again,  and  resumed  his  jog-trot  till  he 
came  up  with  the  two  girls,  who,  out  of  breath  from  their 
exertions,  were  glad  to  jump  into  the  cart.  And  so  we  drove 
on  till  we  came  at  last  to  the  bog.  It  was  a  strange,  wild 
scene,  with  the  moon  shining  over  it  in  broad  patches  of 
silver,  showing  the  green  turf  here  and  the  black  ground 
there,  with  mounds  of  earth  arising  ghost-like,  and  clamps 
of  turf  left  drying  for  use,  and  the  clusters  of  trees,  frag- 
ments of  old-time  forests. 

We  all  got  down  from  the  cart,  whence  Barney  produced 
a  slane,  or  turf-spade.  He  wanted  to  cut  and  leave  to  dry 
a  bemum  of  sods,  and  so  set  to  work  without  delay.  He  cut 
around  till  the  sods  were  of  sufficient  depth;  then  he  dug 
them  up,  and,  turning  them  over,  he  left  them  to  dry.  He 
explained  to  me  that  they  had  afterward  to  be  "  footed  "— 
that  is,  made  into  parcels,— and  then  put  into  rickles,  which 
are  turf-sods  piled  upon  each  other  to  a  certain  height ;  and 
lastly  into  clamps,  which  are  tall  stacks. 

Moira  took  a  turn  at  the  spade,  her  face  growing  redder 
with  the  exertion.     Winifred  ran  over  to  her. 

"Let  me  have  a  turn,"  she  said;  "you  know  I  like  to 
dig." 

And  dig  Winifred  did,  in  spite  of  the  protestations  of 
Barney  and  Moira.    The  former  said  to  me: 


w 


Ing^  the 
,,  'ually 


A  MOONLIGHT  EXPEDITION. 

wh«tl.„    hr«,gh  the  tree,  beyant  a.  to  «op  Mu.  Wimfred 
wden  shes  set  on  anything  I" 

He  watched  her  with  a  comical  lo.  k  ,.  t.ie  p.n 
slane  into  the  earth,  cutting  with  gr  :^  p^x  ■  r,  -nn 
raising  two  or  three  sods. 

"D'ye  see  that  now?"  cried  the  rutic.  «vh  , 
of  admiration  and  amusement. 

"Oh  but  you're  the  wonder  of  the-  .v.r),i  Mi-s  Winifred 
ashore!"  cried  Moira.  "When  it  w..  . T  ,  .oul.t  do  io 
raise  the  sod  meself  I " 

th.l.'l?'^  ?'"  ''""■'^  themselves  in  removing  some  of 

?nt  r  r'""  '*  "^^^^  •"  *'  '="^-  ™'  ''-•='  Wini- 

rinr?""*'  !"*"  'I**"  '°°'  ^°"^  »"<'  2''™«y'    There's  a  fairy 

!.  ir  f.""^  *'  "  ''""^'  «•»"*  it  in  the  moonlight" 

The  blessm'  of  God  between  us  and  harm  I "  cried  the 

akrmed  boy  and  girl  in  a  breath.    « I,  it  dandn'  in  a  fairv 

ring  you'd  be  doin'?"  ""^ 

"cZT'tfTr'^  rr'"'*  *'•"'"  *«  "'<•  imperiously. 
Come!-the  lady  and  I  are  waiting  for  you  •' 

sho!t"^  *i'''  '!'"'^""'  ^  ^  ^'  ^^"^''■■d  "*  o"«,  to 
show  them  that  a  fairy  ring  was  no  more  to  me  than  a  p^tch 

of  earth  where  the  grass  was  softer  and  greener,  and  which 
was  now  whitened  by  the  moon.  And  dance  we  did.  Though 
Barney  and  Moira  were  afraid  of  the  fairies,  they  were  still 
more  afraid  of  displeasing  Winifred.  I  stopped  at  last,  hold- 
ing my  sides  with  merriment  a-d  begging  of  Winifred  to  let 
me  rest  She  threw  herself,  in  a  very  spirit  of  mischief  on 
top  of  a  mound.  This  proceeding  evoked  exclamations  of 
horror  from  Moira  and  Barney. 


74 


A  MOONLIGHT  EXPEDITION. 


"  To  lie  upon  a  rath !  "  groaned  Moira.  "  It's  bewitched 
you'll  be  and  tumin'  into  something'  before  our  eyes." 

"Or  spirited  away  underground!"  added  Barney;  "or 
laid  under  a  spell  that  you'd  ever  and  always  be  a  child." 

"  I'd  like  that,"  remarked  Winifred,  settling  herself  more 
comfortably  upon  the  mound.  "  I  don't  want  to  grow  up 
or  be  old  ever." 

She  gazed  up  at  the  moon,  seeming  to  see  in  its  far-shin- 
ing kingdom  some  country  of  perpetual  youth. 

"  She'd  like  it  1  The  Lord  save  us !  "  cried  Barney.  "  It's 
wishin'  for  a  fairy  spell  she  is.  Come  away.  Miss  Winifred 
dear, — come  away,  if  you're  a  Christian  at  all,  and  not  a 
fairy  as  some  says." 

Moira  uttered  an  exclamation,  and,  darting  over  to  Bar- 
ney, dealt  him  a  sounding  slap  on  the  ear. 

"  How  dare  you  talk  that  way  to  Miss  Winifred ! "  she 
cried. 

"And  how  dare  you  slap  Barney  for  repeating  what  fool- 
ish people  say  I  "  broke  in  Winifred.  "  I'm  ashamed  of  you, 
Moira ! " 

She  stood  up  as  she  spoke,  confronting  both  the  culprits. 
Barney's  face  was  still  red  from  the  slap,  as  well  as  from  a 
sense  of  the  enormity  he  had  committed  in  repeating  to  Miss 
Winifred  what  he  supposed  had  been  kept  carefully  from 
her.  Moira's  lip  quivered  at  her  young  mistress's  reproof, 
and  she  seemed  on  the  point  of  crying;  but  Winifred  spoke 
with  exceeding  gentleness. 

"  I'm  sorry  I  was  so  hasty,"  she  said ;  "  but,  you  see,  Bar- 
ney spoke  only  for  my  good,  and  you  should  have  had  patience 
with  him." 

"And  I  ask  your  pardon  for  the  words  I  said,"  Barney 
began,  in  confusion. 


A  MOONLIGHT  EXPEDITION.  75 

"You  needn't,  Barney,"  said  Winifred.  "You  only  told 
me  what  j'ou  hear  every  day."  Then,  turning  to  me,  she 
added:  "So  you  won't  be  surprised  when  I  do  anything 
strange.  For,  you  see,  I'm  only  a  fairy,  after  all;  and  a 
mischievous  one  at  times."  Her  face  was  all  sparkling  with 
smiles,  and  the  very  spirit  of  mischief  looked  out  oi  her  eyes. 
"  I'll  be  laying  spells  on  you  to  keep  you  here." 

"  I  may  be  weaving  a  counter  one  to  take  you  away,"  I 
ventured. 

She  looked  a  little  startled,  but  went  on  in  the  same  play- 
ful tone,  as  she  turned  back  again  to  the  bewildered  boy  and 
girt: 

"  I'll  be  enchanting  the  pair  of  you,  so  that  you  will  be 
standing  stock-still  just  where  you  are  for  a  hundred  years, 
staring  before  you." 

At  this  they  both  took  to  their  heels  with  a  scream,  Wini- 
fred in  pursuit. 

"And  I'll  turn  Danny  into  a  dragon  and  send  him  flying 
home  with  the  turf." 

There  were  muffled  exclamations  of  terror  from  the  flying 
pair. 

"  I  think  I'll  make  you  into  a  goose,  Barney,  with  a  long 
neck,  thrusting  yourself  into  everybody's  business;  and  Moira 
into  a  pool  where  you  can  swim." 

"  Och,  och !  but  the  child  is  temptin'  Providence ! "  cried 
Moira,  coming  to  a  stand  at  some  distance  off.  "  Here  in 
this  place  of  all  others ;  and  close  by  the  rath  where  the  gentle- 
folks is  listenin'  to  every  word,  and  she  makin'  game  of  them 
to  their  faces !  " 

"  Mebbe  she  is  a  fairy,  after  all !  "  muttered  Barney,  under 
his  breath :  for  he  feared  a  repetition  of  Moira's  prompt  chas- 
tisement.   But  this  time  indeed  he  was  beyond  the  reach  of 


fS  A  MOONLIGHT  EXPEDITION. 

her  arm,  and  Moira  herself  was  in  a  less  warlike  mood.  A 
sudden  shadow,  too,  fell  over  the  moon,  so  that  we  were  in 
darkness.  It  was  a  cloud  of  intense  blackness,  which  fell 
like  a  pall  on  the  shining  disc. 

"  See  what  comes  of  meddlin'  with  them  you  know ! " 
cried  Barney,  while  even  Winifred  was  sobered;  and  the 
three  crept  toward  the  cart,  Barney  and  Moira  shivering 
with  fright  Barney  whipped  up  the  unconscious  horse,  who 
had  much  relished  his  stay  upon  the  bog,  and  was  only  urged 
into  activity  by  the  prospect  of  going  home. 

"  Go  now,  then,  Danny  avick !"  Barney  whispered.  "  It's 
not  bein'  turned  into  a  quare  beast  of  some  kind  you'd  wish 
to  be.  Get  us  away  from  here  before  the  good  people  comes 
up  out  of  the  rath;  for  there's  no  tellin'  what  they'd  do 
to  us." 

"  Hear  how  he  talks  to  the  horse ! "  said  Winifred,  who 
was  now  seated  again  beside  me,  her  curls  dancing  with  the 
jolting  of  the  cart.  "As  if  Danny  knew  anything  about  the 
good  people!" 

"Oh,  doesn't  he,  then.  Miss  Winifred!"  cried  Barney. 
"  It's  meself  has  seen  him  all  or  atremble  from  me  whisperin' 
in  his  ear  concemin'  them." 

"  You  just  imagine  it,  Barney,"    said  Winifred. 

"And  is  it  /  imagine  it?"  exclaimed  Barney,  aggrieved; 
while  Moira  sat  in  terrified  silence,  peering  from  side  to  side 
into  the  darkness  as  if  she  expected  to  see  the  avenging  good 
people  waiting  for  us  along  the  road.  We  were  nearly  at 
the  castle  gate  before  Barney  resumed  anything  of  his  former 
spirits  and  ventured  on  a  joke  or  two.  But  Winifred  was 
tht  merriest  of  the  merry,  and  kept  me  laughing  immoderately 
all  alone  the  moonlit  way,  as  wc  jolted  and  jogged.  She 
insisted  tiiat  the  cart  wheels  sang  a  song,  and  made  up  rhymes 


"i^ii^, 


A  MOONLIGHT  EXPEDITION.  yj 

to  the  musical  sounds  which  she  pretended  she  could  hear 
so  plainly. 

I  often  look  back  to  that  evening  with  peculiar  pleasure. 
Winifred  was  at  her  best:  most  childlike,  most  natural,  thor- 
oughly enjoying  every  moment  of  the  beautiful  summer  night  ; 
so  that  the  doubt  came  over  me  whether  it  was  better,  after 
all,  to  remove  her  from  this  idyllic  life  amongst  the  Irish 
hills.  The  sober  common-sense,  however,  of  next  morning 
confirmed  me  in  my  previous  opinion,  and  I  took  the  first 
step  toward  the  realization  of  that  design  by  seeking  an  inter- 
view with  the  schoolmaster. 


H^^ 


mu^,^^i^,:-r 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  SCHOOLMASTER. 


CHAPTER   X. 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  SCHOOLMASTER. 

I  SET  out,  with  Barney  as  my  guide;  but  Barney  had 
stoutly  declared  that  he  would  go  only  a  part  of  the  way,  as 
he  did  not  want  to  trust  himself  anywhere  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  the  schoolhouse. 

"  Sure  I  went  to  school  there  for  the  length  of  a  whole 
winter,"  he  said ;  "  and  the  master  drove  the  lamin'  into  my 
head.  He  was  a  kind  man,  except  when  the  anger  rose  on 
him.  But  I  was  afeard  of  him,  and  at  long  last  I  ran  away 
and  hid,  and  wouldn't  go  next  or  nigh  him  any  more." 

"  You  were  very  foolish,"  I  remarked.  "  He  could  have 
given  you  an  education  and  prepared  you  to  go  to  America, 
if  such  is  your  intention." 

But  Barney  was  not  to  be  moved  in  his  opinion,  and  went 
©n  beside  me  in  dogged  silenor  till  we  came  to  a  turn  in  the 
»o«d.  where  he  left  me.  refusing  to  go  a  step  further. 

"  Yoo  ca«'t  miss  the  road  now.  ma'am,"  he  declared 
"  Jtwt  push  ^ong  the  way  you're  goin'  till  you  come  to  the 
next  turn    and   then  yoaTl   have  the   schoolhouse   foremmt 

I  thanked  him  and  walud  on  in  the  path  directed,  die 
coo!  mountain  aoV  famw^  my  cheeks,  which  were  heated  by 
the  walk,  ft  was  an  enchanting  scene,  and  I  stopped  more 
than  OBce  befc'e  reaiehin|^  that  turn  in  the  road  described  b>' 
Barney  There,  Weltered  to  some  extent  by  an  overha.  f^ng 
crag,  stood  tiie  canifl  of  the  "  mad  schoolinaster,"  in  one  of 


^m^gmm^wmt^/fi^^j^mi'jmm' 


A  VISIT   TO    I  HE  SCHOOLMASTER.  j^ 

the  loveliest,  a?  it  wiM>  «ie  of  the  wildest,  spots  in  all  that 
beautiful   region 

I  hesitated  bu<  an  instant ;  then,  stepping  forward,  knocked 
at  the  door,  f  opened  it,  after  I  had  knocked  several  times 
without  receiving  any  answer,  and  entered  the  cheerless 
schoolroom.  It  was  quite  undisturbed,  as  though  this  remark- 
able man  still  expected  scholars.  The  rude  seats  were  there, 
the  cracked  slates,  the  table  which  had  served  as  the  master's 
desk ;  a  map  or  two  still  hung  upon  the  wall.  A  heap  of  ashes 
was  on  the  hearth ;  above  it,  hanging  from  a  hook,  the  iden- 
tical iron  pot  in  which  Niall,  it  was  said,  had  been  seen  to 
boil  the  stones.  There  was  something  weird  in  the  scene,  and 
I  felt  a  chill  creeping  over  me.  It  required  all  my  common- 
sense  to  throw  off  the  impression  that  the  rustic  opinion  of 
the  occupant  of  the  cottage  might  be,  after  all,  correct. 

As  I  looked  around  me  and  waited,  the  blue  sky  without 
became  suddenly  overclouded.  I  stepped  to  the  window.  A 
glorious  sight  met  my  eyes,  but  I  knew  that  it  meant  noth- 
ing less  than  a  mountain  storm;  and  here  was  I  in  such  a 
place,  at  a  considerable  distance  from  home.  Mass  after  ma;  s 
of  inky-black  clouds  swept  over  the  mountain,  driven  by  the 
wind,  obscuring  the  pale  blue  and  gold  which  had  been  so 
lately  predominant.  The  wind,  too,  began  to  rise,  blowing 
in  gusts  which  swept  over  and  around  the  cabin,  but  merci- 
fully left  it  imharmed,  because  of  the  protection  afforded  by 
the  high  rock.  But  it  rattled  the  windows  and  whistled  and 
blew,  and  finally  brought  the  rain  down  in  a  fearful  tor- 
rent. Flashes  of  lightning  leaped  from  crag  to  crag,  uniting 
them  by  one  vast  chain.  Each  was  followed  by  a  roar  of 
thunder,  re-echoed  through  the  hills. 

It  was  an  awhi!  scene,  and  I  treiiiblcd  with  an  unknown 
fear,  especially  when  I  felt  rather  tlian  saw  that  some  one 


So 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  SCHOOLMASTER. 


was  close  behind  me.  I  turned  slowly  widi  that  fascination 
which  one  feels  to  behold  a  dreaded  object;  and  there,  quite 
near  me  indeed,  stood  the  schoolmaster.  I  suppose  his  com- 
ing must  have  been  unnoticed  in  the  roar  of  the  tempest. 
I  could  not  otherwise  account  for  his  ptesence.  The  strange 
cloak,  or  outer  garment,  which  he  wore  seemed  perfectly  dry ; 
and  I  wondered  how  he  could  have  come  in  from  such  rain 
apparently  without  getting  wet.  The  smile  upon  his  lips  was 
certainly  a  mocking  one;  and  as  I  faced  him  thus  I  felt 
afraid  with  the  same  cold,  sickly  fear.  His  eyes  had  in  them 
a  gleam  which  I  did  not  like — of  cunning,  almost  of  ferocity. 

"  You  have  come,"  he  said,  without  any  previous  saluta- 
tion, "  to  pry  into  a  mystery ;  and  I  tell  you  you  shall  not  do 
it.  Rather  than  that  you  should  succeed  in  the  attempt  I 
would  hide  you  away  in  one  of  those  hills,  from  which  you 
should  never  escape." 

I  strove  to  speak,  but  my  tongue  clove  to  the  roof  of  my 
mouth;  and  I  could  only  ga;'.e  into  those  strange,  gleaming 
eyes  of  his,  from  which  I  was  afraid  to  remove  my  own. 

"  You  have  come  from  America,"  he  said ;  "  perhaps  it 
is  to  get  her.  And  that  you  shall  never  do  till  my  plans  are 
completed." 

"  To  get  whom  ?  "  I  faltered  out 

"  Whomf  "  he  thundered  in  a  terrible  voice,  which  set  me 
trembling  more  Aan  erer.  "  You  know  whom.  You  are 
trying  to  win  Winifred  from  me — ^the  child  of  my  heart, 
beautiful  as  the  mountain  stream,  and  wayward  as  the  breeze 
that  stirs  its  surface." 

lEs  face  changed  and  softened  and  his  very  voice  sunk 
to  one  of  peci'liar  sweetness  as  he  spoke  of  the  child.  But 
ir.  an  instant  again  he  had  resumed  his  former  wildness  and 
harshness  of  tone  and  demeanor. 


A  VISIT  TO   THE  SCHOOLMASTER. 
'  You  are  trying  to  win  the  child  from  me,"  he 


8i 
went  on ; 


"to  destroy  my  influence  over 

vTvi     ,    ^„    njyijvv    my    plans,       DUl 

yoB  shall  not  do  it— I  lay  you  shall  not  do  it! " 

He  gla«d  i«o  my  face  a.  h,  spoke,  with  an  expression 
which  only  too  closely  resembled  that  of  a  wild  beast.  Words 
rose  to  my  lips.    I  hardly  knew  what  I  said. 

"But  are  you  not  a  Christian-you  are  a  God-fearing 
man?  ° 

It  was  a  strange  question,  and  he  answered  it  with  a  sneer 
tearful  to  see. 

"God-f«tring?  I  used  to  be  so  when  I  knelt,  a  gossoon, 
at  my  mothers  knee;  and  when,  a  stripling,  I  led  the  village 
d.«r^  But  so  I  am  not  now.    I  hav-  only  o.e  god,  and  that 

He  brought  out  the  words  with  a  fearful  power,  as  though 
he  hurled  them  against  something.  His  voice  actually  rose 
above  the  storm,  and  he-  threw  back  his  head  as  though  in 
defiance  of  the  very  heavens 

hithtrtot::' '  ""* '  ''^'  ^'*  ""^'  •=°"^'*^  *- '  ^'^ 

"If  aU  that  is  true,"  I  said,  "surely  you  will  see  yourself 
tnat  you  are  no  companion  for  Winifred." 

"No  companion  for  my  little  lady?  "he  repeated  in  sur- 
prise, with  that  same  softening  of  his  face  and  tone  I  had 

the  rock  guards  the  little  flower  which  grows  in  it.  crevice 
as  the  gardener  guards  a  cherished  plant,  as  the  miner  guards' 

st  i^       T       '^"''  *''  ^*  ''''^  ^^  '"t°  which 
sne  will  have  to  =■?--      Wh-    i^-^      --, 

. ,         "•"     ^^"^'  ^  >*"«:'   Owen  mmselt  has  scarce 

doae  more  for  her  on  the  sco«  of  religion.    I  tell  her  tales 


A  VISIT  TO  7>  £  SCHOOLMASTER. 


of  the  saints  and  holy  people  who  sleep  in  the  soil  of  Ire- 
land; but  all  the  while  I  am  a  sinner — a  black  sinner — with 
but  one  god,  whom  I  worship  with  all  my  might,  and  for 
whom  I  slave  day  and  night" 

"You  can  not  be  what  you  say  if  '-i  Lave  done  all  that 
for  Winifred,"  I  ventured. 

"  I  am  wiiat  I  say !  "  he  cried,  turning  on  me  with  a  snarl. 
"And  so  you  shall  find  if  you  attempt  to  meddle  with  me; 
for  I  have  a  secret,  and  if  you  were  to  discover  that — "  he 
paused — "  I  believe  I  would  kill  you !  " 

My  fear  was  growing  every  instant,  till  I  felt  ftat  I  must 
faint  away  with  the  force  of  it;  but  I  stammered  out: 

"  I  don't  want  to  meddle  with  you  or  to  discover  your 
secret;  I  want  to  find  out  if  you  are  a  safe  companion  for 
Winifred,  and  if  you  will  help  me  in  a  plan  I  have  in  view." 

"A  plan  ?  "  he  said  wildly.  "  I  knew  it  was  so.  A  plan 
to  take  Winifred  away,  to  undo  all  my  work,  to  thwart  the 
plans  which  I  have  had  in  my  mind  for  years!  Beware  how 
you  make  the  attempt — beware,  I  tell  you  I  " 

A  sudden  inspiraticm,  perhaps  from  above,  came  to  me, 
and  I  said  as  steadily  as  possible: 

"  It  would  be  far  better  than  making  all  these  idle  threats 
to  confide  in  me  and  tell  me  as  moch  or  as  little  of  your  plans 
as  you  please.  I  am  a  stranger;  I  have  no  object  in  inter- 
fering in  the  affair,  except  that  I  am  deeply  interested  in 
Winifred,  and  would  do  anything  pos.<iible  for  her  good.  You 
love  the  little  girl  loo,  so  there  is  common  ground  on  which 
to  work." 

"  God  knows  I  do  love  her !  "  he  cried  fervently.  "And 
if  I  could  only  believe  what  you  say !  " 

He  !r!oke<!  at  me  doiibtf!!l!y — =   long,  searching  look. 

"You  may  believe  it,"   I  said,  gaining  confidence   from 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  SCHOOLMASTER. 


83 


his  changed  manner.    Still,  his  eyes  from  under  their  shaggy 
brows  peered  into  my  face  as  he  asked : 

"You  never  read,  perhaps,  of  the  Lagenian  mines?"— 
with  a  look  of  cunning  crossing  his  face. 

"  In  the  lines  of  the  poet  only,"  I  replied,  surprised  at  the 
sudden  change  of  subject  and  at  the  question. 

Niall  looked  ■•  me  long  and  steadily,  and  my  fear  of 
him  began  to  grow  less.  He  had  the  voice  and  speech  of  an 
educated  man— not  educated  in  the  sense  which  was  common 
enough  with  country  schoolmasters  in  Ireland,  who  sometimes 
combined  a  really  wonderful  knowledge  with  rustic  simplicity. 
And  he  had  scarcely  a  trace  of  the  accent  of  the  country. 

"What  if  I  were  to  take  a  desperate  chance,"  he  said 
suddenly,  "and  tell  you  all,  all?  I  have  whispered  it  to  the 
stars,  the  hills,  the  running  waters,  but  never  before  to  human 
ears  except  those  of  my  little  lady.  If  you  are  true  and  hon- 
est, God  deal  with  you  accordingly.  If  you  are  not,  I  shall 
be  the  instrument  of  your  punishment.  I  call  the  thunders 
to  witness  that  I  shall  punish  you  if  I  have  to  walk  the  world 
over  to  do  so;  if  I  have  to  follow  you  by  mountain  and  moor, 
over  the  sea  and  across  whole  continents." 

A  terrifk  flash  of  lightning  almost  blinded  us  as  he  took 
this  tremendous  oath,  which  terrified  me  almost  as  much  as 
though  I  were  really  planning  the  treachery  he  feared.  I 
covered  my  eyes  with  my  hands,  while  crash  upon  crash  of 
thunder  that  followed  nearly  deafened  us.  Niall  sat  tranquil 
and  unmoved. 

"  I  love  the  voice  of  the  stonn,"  he  murmured  presently. 
"It  IS  Nature  at  its  grandest— Nature's  God  commanding, 
threatening." 

When  the  last  echo  of  the  thunder  died  away  he  turned 
back  again  to  the  subject  of  our  discourse. 


•4  A  VISIT  TO  THE  SCHOOLMASTER. 

"  If  I  should  trust  you  with  my  secret,"  he  began  again, 
with  that  same  strange,  wild  manner  which  led  me  to  believe 
that  his  mind  was  more  or  less  unhinged,  "  you  will  have  to 
swear  in  presence  of  the  great  Jehovah,  the  God  of  the  thun- 
der, the  God  of  vengeance,  that  you  will  not  betray  it." 

"  I  can  not  swear,"  I  said  firmly ;  "  but  I  will  promise  sol- 
emnly to  keep  your  secret,  if  you  can  assure  me  that  there 
is  nothing  in  it  which  would  injure  any  one,  or  which  I  should 
be  bound  in  conscience  to  declare." 

"Oh,  you  have  a  conscience?"  cried  this  singular  being, 
with  his  evil  sneer.  "  Well,  so  much  the  better  for  our  bar- 
gain, especially  if  it  is  a  working  conscience." 

"And  you  have  a  conscience  too,"  I  declared,  almost 
sternly ;  "  though  you  may  seek  to  deaden  it — that  Catholic 
conscience  which  is  always  sure  to  awaken  sooner  or  later." 

He  laughed. 

"  I  suppose  I  have  it  about  me  somewhere,  and  there  will 
be  enough  of  it  any  way  to  make  me  keep  an  oath."  He  said 
this  meaningly ;  adding :  "  So,  before  I  begin  my  tale,  weigh 
all  the  chances.  If  you  are  a  traitor,  go  away  now :  leave 
Wicklow,  leave  Ireland,  and  no  harm  is  done.  But  stay, 
work  out  your  treachery,  and  you  shall  die  by  my  hand ! " 

I  shuddered,  but  answered  bravely: 

"  You  need  fear  no  treachery  on  my  part — I  promise  that." 

"Then  swear,"  he  cried, — "swear!" 

"  I  will  not  swear,"  I  said ;  "  but  I  will  promise." 

"Come  out  with  me,"  he  roared  in  that  voice  of  his,  so 
terrible  when  once  roused  to  anger,  "and  promise  in  the 
face  of  heaven,  with  the  eye  of  God  looking  down  upon  you." 

He  seemed  to  tower  above  me  like  some  g^reat  giant,  some 
Titan  of  the  hills ;  his  face  dark  with  resolve,  his  eyes  gleam- 
ing, his  long  hair  streaming  from  under  the  sugar-loaf  hat 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  SCHOOLMASTER.  85 

down  about  hi.  shoulders.     He  «;ized  me  by  the  arm  and 
nurned  me  to  the  door. 

Hardly  knowing  what  I  did.  I  repeated  after  him  some 
formula-a  promise  binding,  certainly,  as  any  oath.  As  I 
d.d  so  by  one  of  those  rare  coincidences,  the  sun  burst  out 
over  the  hill.,  flooding  all  the  valleys  and  resting  lovingly 
upon  the  highest  mountain  peaks. 

"The  smile  of  God  is  with  us,"  Niall  said,  his  own  face 

ransformed  by  a  smile  which  softened  it  as  the  sunshine  did 

the  rocks.      And  now  I  shall  trust  you ;  and  if  you  be  good 

and  true,  why    then,  we  shall  work  together  for  the  dear 

1.  tie  lady,  and  perhaps  you  will  help  me  to  carry  out  my 


maocory  resoiution  iki  chaiii 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


!£ 

1^ 

13.6 

m 

2.0 


1.8 


^  rJPPLIED  IIVHGE    In 

^^^  1653   Eosl   Main    Street 

!"-ga  (?'6)    *82- 0300 -Phone 

^^  (716)   288 -5989 -Fox 


86 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER'S  TALE. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

THE  schoolmaster's  TALE. 

"You  must  know,"  Niall  began,  "that  Winifred  is  a 
descendant  of  the  proud  race  which  inhabited  the  castle 
wherein  the  child  now  lives.  You  are  not,  I  am  sure, 
acquainted  with  the  history  of  her  ancestors,  nor  shall  I  tell 
it.  But  for  a  thousand  years  they  have  been  foremost  in 
war,  in  minstrelsy,  in  beauty,  in  hospitality,  in  benefactions 
to  the  Church  and  in  charity  to  the  poor.  Winifred  is  of 
that  race  and — "  he  paused  and  drew  himself  up  with  some 
pride — "  and   so  am   I." 

Suddenly  I  uttered  an  exclamation  of  astonishment. 

"  I  am  the  uncle  of  her  father.  This  part  of  the  story 
she  has  not  learned;  but  she  does  know  that  for  years  it  has 
been  the  dream  of  my  life  to  restore  the  old  castle,  to  bring 
back  the  fallen  glories  of  our  race.  I,  being  a  younger 
brother,  was  debarred  from  the  line  of  succession.  That  fact 
early  stirred  me  into  bitterness;  the  more  so  as  my  elder 
brother,  Winifred's  grandfather,  was  of  an  easy  and  pleasure- 
loving  temperament.  Far  from  doing  anything  to  improve 
matters,  he  seemed  to  let  everything  go.  I  gradually  with- 
drew from  all  intercourse  with  rny  fellow  men.  I  dwelt  alone, 
in  a  secluded  part  of  the  istle,  and  gave  myself  up  to  study. 
I  desired  to  master  the  secrets  of  the  universe,  and  in  the 
course  of  my  studies  I  learned  one  thing." 

He  stopped  and  looked  at  me  fixedly. 

"And  that  is  the  secret  which  I  have  striven  so  hard  to 
keep  and  which  I  am  about  to  confide  to  you.    But  let  that 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER'S  TALE.  87 

pass  for  the  present.  My  brother  had  an  only  son,  and  he 
was  a  son  after  my  own  heart.  He  seemed  to  combine  in 
himself  all  the  best  qualities  of  our  race.  He  was  daring, 
generous,  impulsive,  yet  steadfast  and  enduring.  Gifted  with 
great  personal  beauty,  he  had  rare  talents  and  a  most  win- 
ning manner.  On  him  I  built  my  hopes.  He  would  in  some 
way  gain  wealth,  honor,  renown.  I  thought  I  had  already  tlie 
key  to  the  first,  hut  I  wanted  him  to  w'"n  the  others  by  his 
own  efforts.  I  goaded  him  into  action ;  I  disgusted  him  with 
the  life  of  a  country  gentleman  which  his  father  had  led— 
and  a  poor  and  obscure  one  at  that." 
Niall  sighed  deeply  as  he  resumed: 

"  Sometimes,  after  an  interview  with  me,  he  would  mount 
his  white  horse  and  gallop  over  the  country,  to  control  the 
agitation  which  my  words  had  awakened  in  him.  He  went 
away  at  last  to  Dublin  seeking  fame.  Every  now  and  then 
he  returned  to  tell  me  of  his  pursuits,  and  I  urged  him  on 
more  and  more.  Suddenly  his  interest  began  to  slacken,  and 
I  saw  that  it  had  taken  another  direction.  Next  thing  I  heard 
he  was  married.  His  wife  was  a  mere  fine  lady,  though  of 
a  worthy  stock.  But  I  parted  from  Roderick  in  anger.  We 
had  a  bitter  quarrel.  In  his  anger  he  called  the  old  castle  a 
ruin,  laughed  at  my  plans  for  restoring  it,  and  declared  he 
would  never  bring  his  wife  there  nor  permit  her  to  see  its 
ruinous  state.    After  that  he  went  away." 

It  seemed  as  if  Niall's  emotion  would  at  this  point  pre- 
vent him  from  continuing  the  story ;  but  he  controlled  him- 
self by  an  effort  and  went  on. 

"Roderick  returned  only  once,  dressed  in  deep  mourn- 
ing, and  bringing  with  him  a  child  about  five  years  old.  That 
was  Winifred.  He  left  her  in  care  of  Mrs.  Meehan.  He 
promised  to  come  back  some  day  or  send  for  his  daughter, 


88  THE  SCHOOLMASTER'S  TALE. 

but  he  <Tave  no  clue  as  to  his  own  subsequent  movements.  I 
myself  believe  he  went  to  America.  Since  then  I  have  seen 
in  the  child  the  hope  of  our  race.  She  has  taken  her  father's 
place  in  my  heart." 

"But  how  came  she  to  be  ignorant  that  you  were  her 
father's  uncle?  Surely  the  neighbors,  especially  Mrs.  Meehan, 
must  have  known." 

"The  neighbors  knew  nothing.  I  had  lived,  as  I  told 
you,  in  retirement,  and  had  been  absent,  spending  ma-y  years 
in  the  Far  East.  I  had  ceased  to  attend  church  once  youth 
had  passed,  and  was  never  seen  in  public.  I  vanished  out 
of  the  memory  of  all  save  a  few  old  servants,  who  dropped 
off  one  by  one.  Mrs.  Meehan  may  suspect  something  of 
the  truth,  but  she  knows  nothing  for  a  certainty." 

I  smiled,  remembering  the  dark  hints  the  blind  woman 
had  thrown  out. 

"  But  how,  then,"  I  asked,  "  did  you  come  to  be  known—" 

"As  the  schoolmaster?"    he  put  in.     "I  abandoned  the 

castle  for  purposes  of  my  own.     I  went  to  live  in  this  cabin 

in  the  hills,  and  I  took  pupils— partly  to  divert  attention  from 

my  real  pursuits,  partly  to  enable  me  to  live." 

I  waited  silently  for  the  conclusion  of  the  strange  nar- 
rative;  but  he  had  fallen  into  profound  thought,  and  sat 
staring  at  the  floor,  seeming  to  have  forgotten  my  presence. 
At  last  he  went  on: 

"Winifred,  as  I  have  said,  was  regarded  by  me  as  the 
hope  of  our  race.  Without  revealing  to  her  our  relationship, 
I  treated  her  with  the  deepest  respect,  in  order  to  give  her 
some  idea  of  the  importance  of  her  position  as  heiress  of 
an  ancient  house,  which,  though  obscured  for  a  time,  is  des- 
tined one  day  to  be  restored." 

As  the  old  man  spoke  thus,  something  of  his   former 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER'S  TALE.  g, 

excitement  returned,  and  he  stood  up,  pacing  the  room,  his 
eyes  glowmg:  and  his  features  working  convulsively.  Now 
nothmg  in  the  whole  affair  had  more  surprised  me  than 
the  manner  in  which  Niall  had  passed  from  a  state  of  almost 
insane  fury  into  the  quiet  courtesy  of  a  well-bred  man;  so 
I  waited  tdl  his  excitement  had  once  more  subsided.  Then 
he  sat  down  again  upon  the  three-cornered  stool  whence  he 
had  arisen,  and  continued: 

"If  Roderick  be  still  living,  I  shall  find  him  one  day  and 
restore  h>s  child  to  him.  But  it  must  be  through  me  that 
this  restoration  is  effected;  and  I  must  at  the  same  time  offer 
him  the  means  of  repairing  the  old  castle  and  taking  up  again 
the  hfe  of  a  country  gentleman." 

''Have  you  any  reason  to  think  he  is  living?"  I  asked 
Oh,   I    do   not   know!"    Niall   answered    mournfully 
For  many  years  he     ,„t  remittances  and  inquired  for  the 
child,  saying  that  he    .ould  one  day  claim  her.     Lately  both 
money  and  letters  have  ceased.     A  rumor  reached  me-I 
scarcely  know  how-that  Roderick  had  married  a  second 
wife.    Even  if  that  be  true,  he  must  have  changed  indeed 
If  he  can  forget  his  own  child.     I  am  haunted  forever  by 
t      fear  that  he  may,  after  all,  be  dead;  or  that,  living,  he 
..t  one  day  claim  Winifred  and  take  her  away  from  Ire- 
land forever.    And  that  I  will  never  permit" 

coni  ^t  ''^^  "^'^"^  ""^  ^"°*''''  °"*'''^;  »>«*  it  did  not 

come     He  went  on,  m  a  caH  and  composed  tone  of  voice: 

I  must  confess  that  when  I  heard  you  were  here-" 

You  fancied,  perhaps,  that  I  was  the  second  wife'"  I 

said,  smihng.  ^ 

"What    I    fancied    matters    little  I"     he    cried     almost 
here  on  such  a  mission,  you  should  return  disappointed." 


90 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER'S  TALE. 


"  Now,  I  may  as  well  admit,"  I  said  deliberateh',  "  that 
I  have  had  thoughts  of  carrying  Winifred  away." 

He  started. 

"  Not  as  the  result  of  a  preconcerted  plan,"  I  hastened  to 
add ;  "  for  I  never  heard  of  Winifred  nor  of  the  castle  till 
I  came  here,  and  I  could  not  even  now  tell  you  the  name 
of  her  father.  I  have  heard  him  spoken  of  merely  as 
Roderick." 

"  Roderick  O'Byrne,"  said  Niall,  fixing  his  keen  eyes  upon 
my  face. 

It  was  my  turn  to  start  and  to  color  violently,  with  the 
sudden  recollection.  ■• 

"  So  you  do,  perhaps,  know  Mr.  Roderick  O'Byrne,  after 
all  ?  "  said  the  schoolmaster,  dryly ;  and  I  saw  that  his  former 
suspicions  were  revived. 

"  Know  him?  Why,  yes.  Bit  as  the  father  of  Winifred 
— ^no. 

"And  where,  may  I  ask,  have  you  met  him  ?  " 

"In   New  York  city." 

He  bent  eagerly  forward. 

"Tell  me — oh,  tell  me  how  long  ago  was  that?" 

"  Within  the  last  six  months." 

"Then  he  is  still  aHve?" 

"  He  was  when  I  sailed  from  New  York,"  I  assented. 

Tears  which  he  could  not  repress  forced  themselves  from 
the  old  man's  eyes  and  flowed  down  his  cheeks.  They  were 
tears  of  joy  and  relief. 

"  O  Roderick !  "  he  murmured ;  "  dear  Roderick,  son  of 
my  heart,  you  are  upon  the  green  earth  still,  and  I  feared 
you  had  left  it  for  evermore !  " 

"  Moreover,"  I  went  on,  "  you  are  altogether  wrong  in 
supposing  he  is  married  again." 


THE  SCHOOLMASTEHS  TALE. 


91 


"What's  that  you  say?"  he  cried  joyfully.  "Living  and 
still  a  widower  ?  " 

"  Living  and  still  a  widower." 
"  You  are  sure  of  that  ?  " 
"  Quite  sure." 

Niall  muttered  some  exclamation  in  Irish,  the  meaning 
of  which  I  did  not  know ;  then  he  turned  upon  me  with  a 
beaming  smile. 

"  You  are  as  the  dawn  that  heralds  a  bright  day,  as  the 
sun  that  peeps  from  out  a  dark  cloud,  as  a  flower  thrusting 
its  head  through  the  snow !  " 

I   sat   watching  the   schoolmaster   with   real   gratification 
at  the  pleasure  I  had  given  him.    Then  he  asked : 
"He  never  spoke  to  you  of  Winifred?" 
"  Never." 

"  Nor  of  Wicklow  ?  " 
"  Nor  of  Wicklow." 

"  He  has  forgotten  Ireland ! "  cried  the  old  man  bitterly. 
"  He  has  become  Americanized,  as  they  all  do." 

"On  the  contrary,"  I  observed.  "I  heard  him  .-peak 
once  of  Ireland,  and  in  a  way  I  shall  never  forget." 

He  looked  at  me  with  sudden  keenness,  even  suspicion; 
and  I  smiled. 

"  I  know  what  you  are  smiling  at !  "  Niall  cried,  with  one 
of  those  quick  flashes  of  intelligence  which  reminded  me  of 
Winifild. 

"Do  you?"  I  said,  laughing  outright.  "Well,  then,  I 
may  as  well  tell  you  I  was  smiling  at  the  suspicion  I  saw  in 
your  eyes— smiling  at  the  contrast  between  my  gray  hairs 
and  wrinkles  and  Roderick  O'Byrne  as  I  saw  him  last." 

"Yet  Roderick  is  no  boy,"  argued  Niall.  "Roderick  is 
close  to  forty." 


9*  THE  SCHOOLMASTERS  TALE. 

"  He  has  the  secret  of  perpetual  youth."  I  said,  warming 
at  the  remembrance.  "Winifred  has  it  too;  she  will  never 
grow  old.  But  now  my  heart  is  more  than  ever  in  your  plans, 
and  I  should  like  to  possess  your  entire  confidence,— to  know 
for  instance,  how  the  wealth  is  to  be  obtained  with  which 
to  restore  the  ancient  castle." 

"That,"  said  Niall,  impressively,  "is  the  secret  which 
hitherto  I  have  shared  with  no  one  save  Winifred,  and  which 
I  am  about  to  impart  to  you.  But  remember  your  promise 
IS  as  solemn,  as  binding  as  an  oath." 

"I  remember,"  I  said;  "and  I  tell  you  once  more  that 
no  W..H  of  your  secret  shall  ever  be  repeated  by  me  to  any 
one  without  your  express  permission.  Take  my  word  for  it " 
Niall  stood  up  and  looked  all  about  him,  examined  the 
door  and  the  window,  went  outside  and  walked  around  the 
cabin,  tried  the  chinks  in  the  walls;  and  when  he  was  quite 
convinced  that  no  living  thing  was  in  the  vicinity,  he  drew 
a  stool  near,  and,  laying  his  sugar-loaf  hat  upon  the  floor 
began  to  pour  into  my  ears  a  tale  which  seer-id  almost 
magical.  His  appearance  changed,  too,  as  Tie  went  on  with 
his  narrative.  His  eyes,  alight  with  enthusiasm,  presently 
took  on  an  expression  merely  of  greed.  The  craving  for 
gold  was  written  on  every  line  of  his  face.  It  was  so  plain  a 
lesson  agamst  avarice  that  involuntarily  I  shuddered 

He  tossed  his  hair  from  his  forehead,  while  Vis  futures 
worked  convulsively;  and  it  was  only  when  he  left  tilt  part 
of  the  subject  which  related  to  mere  gold,  and  rose  once  more 
to  the  plan  he  had  in  view  of  restoring  the  old  castle,  that 
he  brightened  up  again.  Then  I  saw  in  him  one  of  those 
mysterious  resemblances  which  run  through  a  race:  a  like- 
ness to  Roderick-gay,  handsome,  and  comparatively  youne- 
a  likeness  to  Winifred  herself. 


THE  SCHOOLMASTERS  TALE.  „ 

I  had  a  curious  feeling  of  unreality  as  I  sat  there  and 
listened.  The  oI<l  n,an  nught  bc'  Roderick  O'Byrne  himself 
after  the  passage  of  a  score  or  more  of  years;  the  cabin  might 
be  an  enchanted  spot,  which  would  vanish  away  at  touch 
of  a  wizards  wand;  and  these  rude  chair,  and  tables  might 
be  condemned  by  the  same  strange  witchery  to  remain  for- 
ever .nammate.  I  had  to  shake  myself  to  get  rid  of  this  feel- 
.ng  which  crept  over  me.  and  seemed  to  overpower  the  sober 
common-sense,  the  practical  and  prosaic  wisdom,  which  seem 
to  spnng  from  the  American  soil. 


M 


THE  SCHOOLMASTERS  SF.CRET. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

THE  schoolmaster's  secret. 

I  HAD  waited  with  breathless  interest  for  what  Niall  might 
have  to  say ;  but  he  put  his  whole  secret  in  the  openinp  words 
of  his  narrative. 

"  I  am,"  he  began,  "  a  gold-seeker— a  hunter  for  treasure- 
trove." 

"A  gold-seeker?"  I  repeated,  amazed  and  incredulous; 
though  here  was  the  explanation  of  many  mysteries. 

"  Yes.  Here,  in  these  very  mountains  gold  has  been  found 
time  and  time  again.  There  were  mines  here  scarce  a  hun- 
dred years  ago;  'tis  said  that  ten  thousand  pounds'  worth 
of  gold  was  dug  up  in  two  months.  Ten  thousand  pounds! 
Think  of  it !  " 

Niall  stopped,  full  of  a  suppressed  emotion,  which  threat- 
ened, I  thought,  to  shake  his  strong  frame  to  pieces. 

"The  old  minstrels  sang  of  the  gold— the  yellow  gold, 
the  red  gold ;  and,  touching  the  strings  of  their  harps,  the 
bards  told  the  kings  of  other  days  of  treasure  that  had  been 
buried— vases,  ornaments,  trinkets  of  all  sorts—" 

"But  tell  me,"  I  interrupted,  "have  you  found  any  of 
these  things  ?  " 

"  I  have  found  these  treasures  time  and  again.  Some  of 
them  are  now  in  the  British  Museum,  and  the  money  for 
them  in  my  cave  at  the  Phoul-a-Phooka  with  the  other  valu- 
ables, save  those  which  I  gave  to  my  little  lady.  My  store- 
house is  in  the  loneliest  spot,  where  the  timorous  dare  not 
venture,  where  the  wild  horse  of  the  legend  keeps  guard  for 


THE  SCUOOLM.tSri.KS  SliChWT.  gj 

me.  Oncf  I  broiipht  my  little  la.ly  tliere,  an.l  Ikt  cyis  were 
r.o  flazzL     ^.he  covered  tlieiii  with  licr  liamls." 

I  liste:    ,1  as  in  a  dream. 

"  Rut  gold?"  I  asked,  ill  an  awe-stricken  voice.  "  Have 
you   found — " 

"  About  a  hundred  ounces."  he  replied.  "  of  Rcnuine  pure 
.?old.  But  what  is  a  hundred  ounces  where  tons,  perhaps,  lie 
buried  ?  " 

He  sprang  up  and  naced  the  room,  a  fever,  almost  of 
msanitj,  glowing  o.i  his  cheeks  and  in  his  eves.  I  watched 
with  a  new  interest  this  man,  who  was  making  the  hills  and 
streams  of  his  loved  Ireland  yield  up  this  treasure. 

"  It  seems  like  a  fairy-tale,"  I  said. 

"It  is  not  fairy  gold,"  Niall  cried,  with  a  grim  smile; 
"and  it  has  cost  me  years  of  slavery.  I  have  guarded  the 
secret  with  my  life.  I  have  spent  long,  lonely  years  in  this 
cheerless  cabin,  haunting  the  streams  by  night,  washing  and 
rewashing  the  precious  clay  in  the  chill  dawn,  testing  the 
gold  m  the  fire  of  yonder  hearth,  often  when  the  rest  of 
the  world  was  sleeping.  Gold  has  been  my  idol,  my  one  devo- 
tion." 

"Do  you  get  the  gold  in  large  pieces?" 

"  In  every  size,  from  the  tiniest  sparkle  worth  about  six- 
pence to  a  lump  worth  several  shillings." 

"  It  is  wonderful,  wonderf-d !  "  I  could  onlv  repeat. 

"  My  studies  in  the  East  helped  me  much  'in  my  work  " 
Niall  observed;  "but  indeed  for  years  past  the  studv  of 
preoous  metals,  and  how  to  procure  them,  has  been  the  one 
object  of  my  life." 

"  Even  should  your  secret  come  to  light."  I  ventured  to 
say,  "surely  there  is  enough  for  every  one  in  the  bowels  of 
the  earth." 


96  THE  SCHOOLM.ISTURS  SECRET. 

"There  may  bo."  Niall  cried  wildly— "oh,  there  may  be; 
but  no  one  must  know  of  it  till  I  have  got  my  portion! 
Besides,  as  all  gold-seckcrs  know,  the  gold  is  as  uncertain 
as  a  fickle  woman.  Sometimes  in  a  stream  there  is  but  a 
little,  or  there  will  be  much  in  one  portion  of  the  river's  bed 
and  none  at  all  in  the  other." 

"  Did  Roderick  know  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Never.    I  was  but  beginning  my  search  when  he  went 
away.     I  would  not  have  told  him  in  any  case.     He  would 
have  wanted  to  share  our  good  fortune  with  every  one." 
"Winifred  knows?" 

"  Yes,  she  knows.  I  could  trust  her  with  my  secret." 
He  fell  into  deep  abstraction;  and  I,  watching  hitn,  could 
scarcely  realize  that  this  quiet,  thoughtful  man  was  the  same 
wild  being  who  had  terrified  me  during  the  storm.  It 
showed  me  the  fearful  power  of  gold  over  the  human  heart, 
and  how  it  was  capable  of  changing  an  ordinary  gentleman 
of  studious  habits  into  the  semblance  of  a  wild  beast.  He 
roused  himself  all  at  once  to  say : 

"You  spoke  of  some  plan  of  yours  for  the  child?" 
"My  plan   for  Winifred,"   I   said   boldly,  though   with 
some  inward  fear.  "  was  to  take  her  away  with  me  to  America, 
and  put  her  at  a  convent  school,  where  she  should  be  edu- 
cated as  befits  her  station  in  life." 

His  face  grew  dark  as  I  spoke,  and  he  flashed  upon  me 
one  of  his  old  suspicious  glances. 

"You  wanted  to  take  her  to  America!  How  am  I  to 
know  that  you  are  not,  after  all,  an  agent  sent  by  Roderick 
or  by  some  of  the  mother's  people?" 

"  You  have  only  my  word  for  it,"  I  said,  slightly  draw- 
mg  myself  up.    "  I  can  offer  no  other  proof." 

"I  suppose  it  is  all  right,"  he  replied,  with  another  keen 


run  sciinoiM.isri-h-s  sucKur. 


if  not,  then  has  misfortune  in.l.v.l 


look  and  a  deep  sigh; 
overtaken  nic." 

voi.;^t"::ir''^'"''''"^^''= -''■-"'■>•- -'^'"^'■- 

;;Pray  wha,  do  they  teach  at  those  convent  schools?" 
They    teach    the.r    pupils    to    be    Christian    la.lies  -    I 
answered  warmly.  '      * 

He  was  silent  ajrain  for  a  moment  or  two,  then  I,e  went  on : 
I  have  grounded  her  in  ail  her  studies,  and  if  she  con 

see  her  again.     Even  if  I  r,r,  .  .  "'^''*  "^^"^ 

r;  pt;. '  '"• "°~  "■"""-  •«  —<■  "p«.  ..i 

But  he  might  refuse." 

likeVdrelm  of "''  """^  °^"  ^"'^  P'^'   -"ich   seemed   ' 
mu'i^gs  ""'""•     ^"*  ^'^"'^  -'-  "--^e  in  on  my 

"  ''°""  '  '^*  '"'^  ^'^'"'  ^°  -th  you.  it  is  on  condition  that 


98 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER'S  SECRET. 


she  does  not  see  Roderick  until  I  give  my  consent ;  and  should 
I  want  her  back  here  in  the  meantime,  she  must  come." 

"  She  is  not  to  see  her  father?" 

"  No,  no !  She  must  go  direct  to  the  school,  and  Roderick 
must  not  know  of  her  presence  there." 

"  It  seems  hard !  "  I  murmured. 

"  Hard!  But  does  he  deserve  better?"  said  Niall.  "  For 
whatever  cause,  he  has  left  Winifred  to  my  care  and  that  of 
Mrs.   Meehan   all   these  years." 

"That  is  true,''  I  responded ;  "and  I  accept  the  conditions." 

"  It  will  be  the  saddest  moment  of  my  life  when  I  see  my 
little  lady  depart,"  Niall  exclaimec| ;  and  already  his  face  was 
drawn  and  haggard  and  his  voice  husky  at  the  prospect.  "  Rut 
should  my  dream  be  realized,  she  will  acquire  the  manner, 
the  accomplishments,  the  graces  which  our  Wicklow  hills 
can  not  furnish.    You  are  right;  she  must  go." 

I  was  at  once  touched  and  astonished  at  his  ready  com- 
pliance with  my  wishes.  I  had  feared  it  might  be  a  tedious 
task  to  overcome  his  objections.  But  the  clear  mind  of  the 
man  had  at  once  perceived  the  advantages  of  my  plan. 

"  You  see,  I  am  putting  entire  trust  in  you.  I  am  con- 
fiding Winifred  to  you.    I  have  already  told  you  my  secret." 

"  You  shall  never  have  cause  to  regret  either,"  I  cried 
warmly.  "And  as  for  the  conditions,  they  shall  be  put  down 
in  writing,  and  Winifred  shall  be  restored  to  you  when  and 
where  you  desire." 

"  What  will  these  hills  be  like  without  her !  "  he  exclaimed, 
rising  and  going  to  the  window. 

There  was  again  that  wildness  in  tone  and  manner  as  of 
a  mind  which  had  become  somewhat  unsettled  by  the  strange, 
wandering  life  he  had  led,  vvith  its  fever  of  suspense  and 
excitement. 


THE  SCHOOLMASTERS  SECRET.  „ 

"  What  will  the  greensward  be  Hke,  child  of  my  heart, 
when  your  foot  no  more  shall  press  it?  What  will  the  hills 
be  like  when  your  eyes— asthore  machree !— shall  not  look 
upon  them?  And  the  Glen  of  the  Dargle  shall  have  lost  its 
charm  when  you  are  not  there,  its  spirit !  " 

He  tossed  his  anns  above  his  head  and  rushed  wildly  from 
the  cabin.  I  waited  for  a  time ;  but  as  he  did  not  return,  I 
slowly  followed  the  homeward  path,  content  with  what  I  had 
accomplished  for  one  day,  but  wondering  much  at  the  strange 
revelations  which  Niall  had  made. 

Before  I  reached  home  I  suddenly  met  Winifred.  Her 
face  was  clouded,  and  at  first  she  scarcely  noticed  me. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  Niall?"  she  asked.  "I  met 
him  and  he  would  not  look  at  me.  I  called  his  name,  but 
he  ran  away  and  would  not  speak." 

"  He  will  tell  you  all  in  good  time,"  I  answered  soothingly. 
"  It  is  you !  "  she  said,  looking  at  me  keenly,  with  a  glance 
like  that  of  her  kinsman.    "  You  have  been  vexing  him :  say- 
ing something  that  he  did  not  like." 

"We  must  all  have  things  said  to  us  that  we  do  not  like, 
when  it  is  for  our  good,"  I  remarked  gravely. 

"  I  wish  you  had  never  com.e  here !  I  wish  you  would 
go  away!"  Winifred  exclaimed,  stamping  her  little  foot  till 
it  stuck  in  the  soft  earth. 

"  See,  how  useless  is  ill-temper!  "  I  said;  for  I  was  rather 
annoyed  by  her  petulance.  "  You  have  spoiled  your  pretty 
shoe.  And  as  for  going  away,  when  I  go,  you  will  go 
too." 

She  turned  pale,  then  trembled  and  stammered  out  a  ques- 
tion or  two: 

"  I — go — with   you  ?     Where  ?  " 
"All  the  way  to  America." 


100 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER'S  SECRET. 


"  To  America ! "  said  Winifred,  in  an  amazement  which 
seemed  blended  with  fear  or  emotion  of  some  sort. 

"  Yes ;  over  the  great  sea,"  I  went  on,  "  where  you  will 
see  many  new  and  beautiful  things." 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  see  them ! "  she  replied,  with  an 
energy  that  startled  me. 

"  That  is  not  a  nice  way  to  put  it,  dear,"  I  said  gently. 
"  I  hope,  indeed,  you  will  be  a  very  good  girl  and  give  me 
as  little  trouble  as  possible.  You  will  have  to  leave  your  wil- 
ful ways  in  the  mountains  with  the  sprites." 

"  Niall  will  never  allow  it ! "  she  cried,  with  childish 
triumph. 

"  Niall  has  just  said  '  Yes.'  So  I  give  you  a  month  to 
prepare,"  I  declared  firmly.  I  had  determined  to  exert  my 
authority  from  that  moment  forward,  as  it  was  necessary 
that  I  should. 

"  Niall  has  said  '  Yes  '  I  "  she  repeated,  drawing  a  sharp 
breath  and  speaking  as  one  in  a  dream.  Her  lip  quivered ;  two 
tears  shone  in  her  eyes,  but  she  would  not  let  them  fall.  Turn- 
ing on  me  instead,  with  a  curious  tone  of  command,  she  asked : 

"  Who  are  you  ?  " 

"A  friend."     . 

"An  enemy,  I  think  I "  said  Winifred,  and  with  that  she 
turned  sharply  away  and  was  soon  hidden  in  the  brushwood. 
But  I  heard  her  only  a  few  moments  afterward,  sobbing  aloud 
and  calling,  as  Niall  had  done,  on  Nature: 

"  I  can't  leave  the  hills  and  the  streams  and  the  valleys ! 
I  can't  leave  Wicklow  and  the  Dargle  and  the  castle,  and 
dear  Granny  and  Moira  and  Barney  and  Niall !  Oh,  it  would 
break  my  heart !  " 

She  sobbed  again  for  a  few  moments ;  then  her  voice  rang 
out  defiantly: 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER'S  SECRET.  ,o, 

over'  tot  ""h"  '°  ^t'u""'  "^°'""^  *°  *^  '"  -i"  '^e  child 
over  to  my  .deas  as  I  had  done  her  uncle.    I  foresaw  many 

outside  the  door  I  began  to  wonder  if  my  idea  was,  after 
all.  a  m.staken  one.     The  air  was  very  fresh  and  pur    ate 
th    storm ;  the  verdure  of  that  Emerald  Isle,  so  fondfy  remem 
b  red  by  .ts  ex.led  sons  and  daughters,  was  rich  and  gloX 

d  rke  t"'"t''  "'  T  ''"^  ""^  '"'™"^^''  ""  ^  ^°'^'n  haze^ 
toTr^u        ^"'■''''  "'"  '^'  ^"'"'"'t-     I  -t  and  listened 
to  a  thrush  smg.ng  in  the  lilac  bush  near  which  I  had  seen 
Wm.fred  s.ttmg  on  the  morning  of  our  visit  to  the  caMe 
t.U  a  strange  peace  stole  over  me  and  I  lost  all  my  fear 


laa 


TIVO  yiSITS. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 


TWO  VISITS. 

My  next  duty  was  to  obtain  Granny  Meehan's  consent  to 
Winifred's  departure  for  America.  I  found  her  sitting  beside 
the  hearth  in  her  accustomed  place,  with  the  cat  at  her  feet. 
Winifred  was  absent,  and  in  the  outer  court  was  the  pleasant 
sunshine  falling  over  solitude.  Only  the  fowls,  so  variously 
named  by  Winifred,  disported  themselves  before  the  window. 

Mrs.  Meehan  greeted  me  cheerfully  and  cordially,  and  I 
saw  that  no  shadow  cf  future  events  had  fallen  upon  her  yet. 
Our  conversation  at  first  was  on  the  usual  topics — the  fine 
weather,  the  prospect  of  good  crops.  Then,  as  it  were  of  a 
sudden,  I  remarked: 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Meehan,  I  have  seen  the  schoolmaster." 

Granny  started,  and  stared  at  me  in  silence  for  a  few 
moments. 

"  Where,  then,  ma'am  dear?"   she  asked  uneasily. 

"  In  his  own  house." 

"  In  the  cabin  up  beyant  there?  "  she  cried  in  amazement. 
"  Tell  me  was  it  up  tnere  ?  " 

"Yes,  in  the  cabin  amongst  the  hills,  on  the  day  of  the 
storm,"  I  answered  very  calmly. 

"The  Lord  be  good  to  us,  ma'am!  And  what  took  you 
to  that  fearsome  place — in  such  weather,  too?  Couldn't  you 
have  got  shelter  anywhere  else?  " 


TtVO  VISITS. 


103 


She  was  quite  pale  at  the  thought. 

"I  went  purposely,  Mrs.  Meehan;  for  I  had  made  up 
my  mind  to  ask  him  for  Winifred." 

"  To  ask  him  for  Winifred !  "  she  echoed  in  astonishment. 
Then  her  manner  showed  something  of  oflFence.  "  It  was  in 
my  charge  the  colleen  was  left,"  she  declared;  "and  'tis  I, 
and  not  Niall  of  the  hill,  that  has  the  say  about  her." 

"  But  I  was  sure  of  your  consent  already,"  said  I,  quietly. 
"And  what  made  you  sure  of  it,  axin'  your  pardon  for 
the  question  ?  " 

"Your  mtelligence,  your  love  for  the  girl,  and  your  fear 
of  Niall's  influence,  over  her." 

She  seemed  mollified,  and  I  went  on : 
"  Your  intelligence  will  show  you  it  is  for  the  best,  your 
love  for  Winifred  will  make  you  wish  the  best  for  her,  while 
your  fear  of  Niall — " 

"  Speak  lower,  ma'am :  he  may  be  in  hearin' !  "  she  said 
anxiously.  "He's  that  strange  he  does  be  appearin'  when 
least  you  expect." 

"Well,  in  any  case,  I  knew  you  would  not  oppose  her 
going  with  me  to  America." 

"To  America,  is  it?"  cried  the  woman,  br^  ig  up  as 
fiercely  almost  as  Niall  himself.  "  Oh,  then.  ho.,  am  I  to 
know  that  you're  playin'  me  no  tricks— that  you  haven't  been 
sent  to  take  her  away  from  us  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Meehan,"  I  said  gravely,  "  I  gave  you  my  word 
as  a  lady  that  I  knew  nothing  of  her  till  I  came  here." 

"  I  ax  your  pardon!  "  she  said  humbly.  "  But,  O  ma'am 
dear,  think  of  America,  over  the  big  ocean,  and  me  sit  in'  here 
alone  among  the  hills,  powerless  to  go  to  her  if  sh.  needs 


me! ' 


'  She  will  be  taken  good  care  of,"  I  said.     "  I 


shall  put 


104 


TWO  VISITS. 


her  in  a  convent,  where  she  will  be  thoroughly  educated  and 
prepared  for  the  part  she  has  to  play  in  life." 

"  And  will  she  be  goin'  away  from  the  old  land  forever  ?  " 
she  asked,  clasping  her  feeble  hand  over  her  heirt. 

"  By  no  means.  It  is  my  hope  and  wish  that  she  come 
back  here." 

"  But  him  you  call  the  schoolmaster  will  never  allow  it  I " 
she  cried,  with  something  of  the  same  triumph  which  had  ap- 
peared in  Winifred's  face. 

"  The  fchoolmaster  has  already  given  his  consent,"  I  said 
quietly. 

"  Given  his  consent ! "  repeated  the  old  woman,  flushing 
and  paling;  and  then  a  great  wonder  seemed  to  overcome 
every  other  feeling.  "  You  saw  him  in  the  cabin  'mongst  the 
hills  and  you  got  his  consent !  But  weren't  you  afeared,  ma'am, 
to  go  there  by  yourself  ?  " 

"  I  was  somewhat  afraid  at  first,"  I  admitted ;  "  but  I  felt 
that  for  the  child's  sake  it  had  to  be  done." 

"And  you'll  take  her  away  from  me?"  the  old  woman 
cried  piteously.       How  can  you,  ma'am  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  see  yourself  how  much  the  best  thing  it  is  for 
her?"  I  urged.  "You  are  afraid  of  Niall's  influence  over 
her;  she  can  not  grow  up  as  she  is,  roaming  the  hills,  with 
no  companions  of  her  own  age  or  rank." 

She  was  silent  a  long  time,  and  I  thought  she  was  praying. 

"  You  are  right,  ma'am  dear,"  she  said  tranquilly ;  "  it  is 
for  the  best,  and  it  seems  to  be  God's  holy  will.  But  when 
must  it  be?  " 

"  We  shall  sail  from  here  in  August,  I  think,"  I  answered. 
"And  then  I  can  place  her  in  a  convent  near  New  York  for 
the  opening  term  of  the  school  year.  If  she  stays  there  even 
two  or  three  years,  it  will  make  a  great  diflference.    And  then 


TWO  VISITS.  , 

she  will  come  back  to  take  her  place  at  the  castle,  if  it  can 
be  made  habitable;  or,  at  all  events,  in  the  neighborhood  " 

But  Miss  Winifred's  father  is  in  the  United  States  of 
America?      said  the  old  woman,  tremulously. 

to  uZT  ^'  "  '"  ^"^  "^°*-    ^  ''""^  '"'"  """^  ''"^*  ^P°'<«^" 

The  old  woman's  face  flushed  with  a  joyful,  eager  flush. 

You  know  my  boy,  the  pulse  of  my  heart-Roderick?" 

Yes      I  answered.    "  I  know  him.  I  may  say,  well." 

A  look  of  trouble  suddenly  replaced  the  brightness  of 

Granny  Meehan's  face. 

Winif^en"  'T  *°°  *'''  ''  ^°^'"'''  ^**^  ""''  «y-  °"  Miss 
Winifred,  well  never  see  her  more  here  in  the  old  land." 

There  was  something  indescribably  mournful  in  her  tone. 

s,     ^Tf  *^'  •'"'"    '^'  ^'="*  °"'-    "''"d  who  can 

say  that  his  new  wife  will  give  her  a  mother's      .e  or  a 
mother's  care?"  »c  or  a 

"He  has  no  new  wife!"  I  said-"no  wife  at  all-  and 
perhaps,  among  us,  we  can  win  him  back  to  the  o.d  world- 
to  Ireland,  to  Wicklow." 

"'iw^*^'  '^"•.T^"'^  machreel  »  cried  the  old  woman, 
-  that  he  has  no  wife  at  all.  Oh,  then,  sure  there's  hope  fo.^ 
him  comin'  back  I "  ^ 

.oil^'"!  "k  ""''!  '*  »  ~"*»'«°n  ot  his  consent  to  Winifred's 
going,      I  observed,  "that  Roderick  shall  not  see  his  child 

t":;  ^^aT" '"  ''''^''  ^"  ^^^  ^"^"^  *"'  '»■•=  °'«'  -"  SZ 

"The  old  rap!"   cried  Granny,  with  sudden  ire     " 'Tis 

^yin  !    And  hasn  t  he  been  a  father  to  the  little  one,  with  all 
his  queer  ways  and  his  strayin'  about  the  hills  when  other 
were  in  their  beds?"  ^ 


106 


TWO  yisns. 


"  He  is  altogether  devoted  to  her,"  I  said ;  "  and  has  a 
right  to  make  what  request  he  pleases." 

"  True  for  you,  ma'am — true  for  you,"  said  Granny.  "And 
my  old  heart's  so  full  with  all  you've  told  me  that  it  seems 
as  if  the  world  was  turned  the  wrong  way  round.  Oh,  what 
a  desolate  spot  this  will  be  when  Miss  Winifred's  gone  out 
of  it!" 

"  Only  for  a  time ;  and  then,  if  all  goes  as  we  hope,  think 
what  happiness  is  in  store  for  every  one ! " 

"  I'll  try  to  think  of  it,  ma'am, — indeed  and  I  will,"  said 
Granny.  "And,  sittin'  here  in  the  dark  alone,  I'll  be  prayin', 
mornin',  noon  and  night,  that  all  may  turn  for  the  best." 

"  Your  prayers  will  help  more  than  anything  else  can," 
I  declared ;  "  be  sure  of  that,  and  keep  up  your  heart.  But 
now  I  think  I'll  call  upon  the  priest — Father  Owen,  I  be- 
lieve?" 

"Yes:    Father  Owen  Farley." 

"  Very  well.  I  shall  see  him  and  tell  him  all  about  the 
matter.    He  may  be  a  help  to  us,  too." 

I  bade  the  old  woman  good-morning  and  went  on  my  way, 
feeling  that  I  had  quite  overcome  the  opposition  of  those 
interested  in  the  girl.  I  had  only  to  fear  now  some  wilfulness 
on  the  part  of  Winifred  herself,  and  I  counted  on  Father 
Owen  to  help  me  in  that  direction.  I  had  already  discovered 
that  she  had  a  strong,  lively  faith,  the  robust  piety  so  com- 
mon among  the  children  of  Ireland,  and  the  respect  for  priests 
which  seems  to  come  by  instinct.  I  had  heard  her  speak  of 
Father  Owen  with  a  reverence  beautiful  to  see  in  one  so 
young. 

As  I  went  on  my  way  to  the  chapel,  the  sun,  which  had 
been  under  a  cloud,  suddenly  burst  out  from  a  sky  of  tender, 
dappled  gray.    There  was  a  smell  of  the  woods  in  the  air. 


nyo  yis/TS.  ,f^ 

which  a  morning  shower  had  brought  forth;  and  a  robin 
was  singing  as  I  approached  Father  Owens  residence.  The 
songster  sat  on  the  bough  of  a  tree,  his  red  breast  swelling 
with  the  melody  he  sent  forth.  His  bright  eye  catching  sight 
of  me  caused  him  to  trill  out  more  bravely  than  ever,  as  if 
to  say :  "  See  how  this  little  Irish  robin  can  sing !  Did  you 
ever  hear  a  finer  song  than  that  ?  " 

I  think  it  was  at  the  same  thought  Father  Owen  was 
laughing  as  I  drew  near.  He  stood  in  his  little  garden,  a 
fine,  v(  nerable  figure,  with  snow-white  hair,  worn  rather  long 
on  his  neck.  He  was  about  the  medium  height,  thin  to 
emaciation,  with  wonderfully  bright  eyes  and  the  smile  of  a 
child.     He  turned  at  my  approach.     I  introduced  myself. 

"  You  will  know  me  best,  Father,"  I  observed,  "  as  the 
lady  from  America." 

"The  lady  from  America?"  he  said.  "  I'm  glad  to  meet 
you.  Of  course  I've  seen  you  in  church  and  at  the  holy 
table.  This  is  a  real  pleasure,  though.  Come  -'nto  my  little 
house  now,  and  let  me  hear  something  of  your  wonderful 
country  beyond  the  sea." 

I  followed,  charmed  with  his  courtesy. 
"  I  was  listening  to  that  rogue  of  a  robin,"  he  said,  as  he 
led  me  in;  "  and  I  think  he  knew  very  well  he  had  an  auditor. 
Birds,  I  suppose,  have  their  vanity,  like  the  rest  of  us." 

"  The  same  thought  occurred  to  me,  Father,"  I  answered. 
"  He  did  swell  out  his  little  throat  so.  and  sent  his  eye  wan- 
dering about  in  search  of  applause." 

"  There's  a  deal  of  human  nature  in  birds,"  said  the  priest, 
laughing  at  the  quaint  conceit;  "and  in  the  lower  animals' 
as  well — every  cat  and  dog  among  them." 

We  chatted  on  from  one  subject  to  another,  till  at  last  I 
introduced  that  which  had  brought  me. 


Ml 


TIVO  yiSITS. 


"  Father,"  I  began,  "  I  want  to  talk  to  you  specially  about 
Winifred,  the  orphan  of  the  castle." 

"Winifred!"  he  said,  his  face  lighting  up.  'A  iovabic, 
charming  child,  but  a  bit  wayward ;  pure  and  bright  in  spirit 
as  yonder  mountain  stream,  but  just  as  little  to  be  re- 
strained." 

"  I  thought  I  would  like  to  hear  your  opinion  of  a  plan 
I  have  formed  with  regard  to  her." 

He  bowed  his  head,  with  an  inimitable  courtesy  in  the 
gesture,  as  if  to  signify  his  willingness  to  hear,  and  fixed  his 
dark  eyes  upon  me. 

"  My  idea  is  to  take  her  to  America  and  place  her  for  a 
few  years  in  a  convent." 

"America,"  he  said  thoughtfully,  "is  very  far  off;  and 
if  she  has  to  live  in  Ireland,  might  it  not  be  better  to  select 
a  convent  nearer  home  ?  " 

Then  J  went  more  into  details:  told  him  of  Roderick  and 
of  the  possibility  of  bringing  father  and  child  together.  His 
opposition— if  opposition  it  could  be  called— vanished  at 
once,  and  he  cordially  entered  into  the  idea. 

"  Granny  Meehan  will  certainly  consent  if  we  all  think  it 
best  for  the  child,"  he  said;  "  but  what  of  that  extraordinary 
being  in  the  mountains  up  yonder?    What  of  Niall?" 

"  He  has  consented." 

"  You  amaze  me  I  "  cried  the  priest,  holding  up  both  hands 
in  astonishment.  "Surely  it  takes  you  Americans  to  ac- 
complish anything."  Then  he  added  after  a  pause:  "  Did  he 
mention  his  relationship  to  Winifred,  which  is  a  secret  from 
all  about  here?" 
"  He  did." 

"  He  is  a  most  singular  character — a  noble  one,  warped 
by  circumstances,"   continued   the   priest,   thoughtfully.     "A 


TICO  VISITS. 


109 


visionary,  a  dreamer.     Poor  Niall!    he  was  a  fine  lad  when 
I  knew  him  first." 

•'  You  knew  him  when  he  was  young,  then  ?  "  I  inquired. 
"Yes,  I  knew  h"  n  well.  An  ardent  enthusiastic  bov, 
brave  and  hopeful  a..d  devout.  Now-but  ^ve  need  not  <lis- 
cuss  that.  It  is  as  well,  perhaps,  that  the  child  should  be  with- 
drawn from  his  influence  before  she  is  older;  though,  mind 
you,  his  influence  over  her  has  hitherto  been  for  the  best." 

"  So  I  have  every  reason  to  think,"  I  assented ;  "  but  as 
you  say.  Father,  growing  older,  the  girl  will  require  diflFerent 
surroundings." 

After  that  we  talked  over  our  plai.s  for  the  best  part  o. 
an  hour;  and  the  old  priest  showed  me  his  simple  treasures 
—a  crucifix  of  rarest  ivory,  so  exquisitely  carved  t'.at  I  could 
not  refrain  from  expressing  my  admiration  again  and  again 
Th.s.  w.th  a  picture  or  two  of  rare  merit,  had  come  from 
Rome;  and  reminded  Father  Owen,  as  he  said,  of  seminary 
days,  of  walks  on  the  Campagna  in  the  wonderful  glow  of 
an  Italian  sunset,  of  visits  to  churrhes  and  art  ga'leries  He 
showed  me.  too,  his  books. 

"They  have  supplied  to  me,"  he  observed,  "the  place  of 
companionship  and  of  travel.  I  can  travel  in  their  pages 
around  the  civilized  world;  and  I  love  them  as  so  many  old 
friends.  In  the  long  nights  of  winter  I  have  sat  here,  listen- 
mg  to  the  mountain  storm  while  I  read,  or  the  streams  rush- 
mg  upon  their  way  when  the  frost  set  them  free  " 

As  he  talked  thus  there  was  the  sound  of  hasty,  rushing 
feet  in  the  hall,  and  Winifred  burst  into  the  room 


110 


HOW  FATIll.R  owns  WOS  THH  DAY. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 


HOW   FATHER  OWEN    WON   THE  DAY. 


She  threw  upon  the  table  an  immense  mass  of  bloom  she 
had  gathered  on  the  banks  of  the  Dargle ;  then  rushed  over 
to  her  beloved  Father  Owen,  crying: 

"O  Father  Owen,  Father  Owen !  she  wants  to  take  me 
away  with  htr  to  America,  and  it  will  break  my  heart — I 
know  it  will !  " 

The  tears  streamed  down  her  cheeks,  and  she  never  noticed 
me  in  this  wild  outburst  of  grief. 

"  My  child,  my  child,"  said  Father  Owen,  "  do  you  hear 
that  robin  singing  outside  there?  And  you,  to  whom  God 
has  given  reason,  are  crying!  The  little  robin  sings  in  the 
sunshine  and  is  calm  in  the  storm." 

"  I  can't  help  it,  Father—I  can't  help  it !  The  robin  has 
no  heart,  but  just  feathers  over  his  little  bones." 

Father  Owen  laughed,  and  even  the  girl  smiled  througl 
her  tears. 

"  Let  me  see  sunshine  again  on  your  face."  the  priest  said, 
"  and  hear  the  song  on  your  lips,  if  you  are  going  to 
America  there's  no  misfortune  in  that — is  there  ?  " 

"  No  misfortune  to  leave  everything  I  love  and  go  away 
with  a  stranger?" 

"  Not  so  great  a  stranger,  Winifred,"  I  ventured,  re- 
proachfully.   "  I  thought  we  were  to  be  friends." 

The  girl  started  at  sound  of  my  voice  and  blushed  rosy  red. 


HOiy  I'AIHEK  OWEN  IIO.V   I  HI:  DAY.  ,,, 

••  I  (liclnt  know  you  wore  here!  "  she  muttered  confusecllv. 

••  Well,  it  tlocsn't  matter,  my  dear."  I  replied.  "  You  have 
shown  nothing  more  than  natural  feeling  at  the  prospect  of 
partmg  with  the  scenes  and  friends  of  your  c;iil<lhoo<l.  But 
I  want  to  tell  you  now  in  presence  of  I'ather  Farley  that  you 
are  free  to  stay  or  go.  I  shall  not  force  you  to  accompany 
me;  for  perhaps,  after  all,  you  will  be  happier  here  than 
there." 

"Ah,  happiness  is  not  the  only  object  of  a  life!  "  Father 
Owen  said  quickly.  "  Why,  even  that  little  bird  von.ler  has 
to  give  up  his  songs  in  the  sunshine  sometimes  and  go  to 
work.  He  has  to  build  his  nest  as  a  shelter  for  his  family, 
and  he  has  to  find  them  food." 

He  paused,  looking  out  of  the  window  at  the  little  work- 
man gaily  hopping  about  as  if  mal.-ing  repairs  in  his  dwelling, 
and  thus  pointing  the  moral  and  a<lorning  the  tale.  When 
the  priest  turned  round  again  to  :^ok  at  Winifred,  her  face 
was  pale  but  composed,  and  her  tears  were  dried  on  the 
delicate  kerchief  she  drew  from  the  folds  of  her  cloak. 

"  To  my  mind  it  seems  clear,"  said  the  priest,  "  that  this 
lady's  presence  here  just  now  is  providential;  and  that  her 
offer  to  take  you  to  America  is  most  kind,  as  it  is  most  ad- 
vantageous." 

Winifred  threw  at  me  a  glance  which  was  neither  so 
grateful  nor  so  friendly  as  it  might  have  been ;  but  she  loc.<ed 
so  charming,  her  eyes  still  misty  with  tears  and  her  cur's 
fallmg  mutinou.sly  about  her  face,  that  I  forgave  her  on  the 
spot. 

"And  yet  I  came  here  to  tell  you.  Father  Owen,  that  I 
wouldn't  go!  "    she  cried  impetuously. 

"Oh,  did  vou?"  said  Father  Owen,  "Then  you  came 
here  also  to  be  told  that  you  must  go," 


112  HOIV  FATHER  OWEN  WON  THE  DAY. 

"Must!"    I  echoed.    "  Oh,  no,  Father— not  that ! " 

"  That  and  nothing  else,"  insisted  the  priest.  "  I  shall  be 
sorry  indeed  to  part  from  my  Winifred  " — his  brown  eyes 
rested  on  her  with  infinite  kindliness.  "I  taught  her  her 
catechism;  I  prepared  her  for  her  first  confession  and  holy 
communion,  and  to  be  confirmed  by  the  bishop.  I  have  seen 
her  grow  up  like  the  flowers  on  yonder  rocks.  But  she  is 
not  a  flower:  she  has  a  human  soul,  and  she  has  a  destiny 
to  fulfil  here  in  this  world.  Therefore,  when  an  offer  is 
made  to  her  which  will  give  her  every  advantage  that  she 
now  lacks,  what  are  my  feelings  or  Niall's  or  Granny's  or 
hers?  " 

Winifred's  eyes  sought  the  floor  in  some  confusion,  and 
with  a  hint  of  new  tears  darkening  them ;  for  her  old  friend's 
words  had  touched  her. 

"  She  thinks,  I  suppose,"  he  went  on,  "  that  because  I  am 
a  priest  I  have  no  heart  like  the  robin  out  yonder.  Why, 
there  is  none  of  the  little  ones  that  I  teach  that  do  not  creep 
into  my  heart  and  never  get  out,  even  when  they  come  to  be 
big  stalwart  men  or  women  grown.  But  I  put  my  feelings 
aside  and  say,  '  What  is  best  must  be  done.'  And,"  con- 
tinued the  priest,  "  look  at  Granny !  She  will  be  left  desolate 
in  her  blindness,  and  yet  she  bids  you  go.  Poor  daft  Niall, 
too,  will  be  a  wanderer  lonelier  than  ever  without  his  little 
companion ;   but  does  he  complain  ?  " 

"O  Father  Owen,"  cried  Winifred,  "  I'll  do  whatever  you 
say!    You  know  I  never  disobeyed  you  in  my  life." 

"  That's  a  good  child,  now !  "  said  the  priest.  "And  I 
hope  I  wasn't  too  cross.  Go  to  my  Breviary  there  and  you 
will  find  a  pretty,  bright  picture.  And  here  I  have — bless  me ! 
—some  sugar-plums.  The  ladies  from  Powerscourt  brought 
them  from  Dublin  and  gave  them  to  me  for  my  little  friend." 


HOW  FATHER  OWEN  WON  THE  DAY.  ,,3 

Winifred  flew  to  the  Breviary  and  with  a  juxfiU  crv 
brought  out  a  lovely  picture  of  the  Sacred  Heart.  The  sugar- 
plums, however,  seemed  to  choke  her,  and  she  put  them  in 
her  pocket  silently. 

''When  will  you  start  for  America?  "  asked  the  priest. 

.1,  .  w"-.  ']  ^^^^  °^  ^"^'*'  P^^'^'P^'"  I  answered:  "so 
that  Wrnfred  may  be  in  time  for  the  opening  of  school." 
Well,  then,"  sa.d  Father  Owen,  "it  will  be  ti.ne  enough 
to  begin  to  cry  on  the  31st  of  July,  Winifred  my  child;  and 
you  have  a  whole  month  before  then." 

Winifred  brightened  visibly  at  this;  for  a  month  is  very 
long  to  a  child.  ^ 

"Meantime  you. will  take  your  kin<l  friend  here,  this  goo<l 
lady,  to  see  the  sights.  She  must  know  Wicklow  well  at 
any  rate;  so  that  you  can  talk  about  it  away  over  there  in 
America.  I  wish  I  were  going  myself  to  see  all  the  fine 
churehes  and  schools  and  institutions  that  they  tell  me  are 

''You  have  never  been  in  America,  Father?"   I  inquired. 
Nor  ever  will,  I'm  afraid.     My  old  bones  are  too  stiff 
tor  traveling." 

,1.  "'^'!r'''."r  "^  "''^'  '^'"'^^'  '°  '='''"''  '^^  '"°""t--^in  in 
all  weathers,  I  put  in.  For  the  landlord  had  told  me  how 
Father  Owen,  in  the  stormiest  nights  of  winter  and  at  any 
hour,  would  set  out,  staff  in  hand.  He  would  climb  almost 
inaccessible  heights,  where  a  few  straggling  families  had  their 
cabins,  to  administer  the  sick  or  give  consolation  in  the  houses 
ot  death. 

frielftJ  ^''i:."°"l'"'*  ^  '"'"'•"  ""'  '"''"'^^d-  "Like  my 
fnend  the  robm,  I  have  my  work  to  do;   and  the  worse  for 

me  If  some  of  my  flock  are  perched  high  up.  'Tis  the  worse 
'or  tnem,  too. 


114 


HOIV  FATHER  OWEN  WON  THE  DAY. 


I  could  not  but  laugh  at  the  drollery  of  his  expression. 

"  My  purse  is  none  of  the  longest  either,"  he  said,  "  and 
wouldn't  reach  near  as  far  as  America;  and,  besides,  I'm 
better  at  home  where  my  duty  is." 

This  quaint,  simple  man  of  God  attracted  me  f)owerfully, 
and  I  could  not  wonder  at  the  hold  he  had  upon  his  parish- 
ioners. 

"  Some  of  my  poor  people,"  he  went  on,  "  have  no  other 
friend  than  the  soggarth ;  and  if  he  went  away  what  would 
they  do  at  all?  Winifred  my  pet,  there's  one  of  the  geese 
just  got  into  the  garden.  Gp  and  chase  it  away;  and  I 
needn't  tell  you  not  to  throw  stones  nor  hurt  it,  as  the  boys  do." 

Winifred  went  off  delightedly,  and  we  saw  her,  with  merry 
peals  of  laughter,  pursuing  the  obstinate  creature  round  and 
round  the  garden.  No  sooner  did  she  put  it  out  at  the  gate 
than  it  came  in  at  a  chink  in  the  wall. 

"  Weary  on  it  for  a  goosie !  "  said  the  priest ;  "  though, 
like  the  rest  of  the  world,  it  goes  where  it  will  do  best  for 
itself.  But  I  want  to  tell  you,  my  dear  lady,  while  the  child's 
away,  how  glad  I  am  that  she  is  going  with  you  and  to  a 
convent.  It  was  God  sent  you  here.  The  finger  of  God  is 
tracing  out  her  way,  and  I'm  sure  His  blessing  will  rest  upon 
you  for  your  share  in  the  work." 

At  this  moment  Winifred,  breathless  from  her  chase, 
entered  the  room. 

"Arrange  your  posy  now,  a.id  take  it  over  yourself  to  the 
church,"  said  Father  Owen ;  "  and  maybe  I'll  come  over 
there  by  and  by  to  play  you  something  on  the  organ." 

For  it  was  one  of  Winifred's  greatest  pleasures  to  sit  in 
the  dim  little  chapel  and  listen  to  the  strains  of  the  small 
organ,  which  Father  Owen  touched  with  a  master-hand.  So 
the  child,  arranging  the  flowers — primroses  chiefly,  with  their 


■  HOIV  FATHER  OWEN  WON  THE  DAY.  ,,5 

pale  gold  contrasting  with  the  green  of  the  leaves-prepared 
to  set  out.  I,  taking  leave  of  the  priest,  accompanied  her.  and 
sat  down  m  a  pew  while  Winifred  went  into  the  sacristy  for 

l^TJ  !T  °"'  ^^''"  ^"'^  P"*  '^^  fl°^«"  «t  the  foot 
of  the  Blessed  V.rgin's  altar;  then  she  knelt  down  just  under 
he  sanctuary  lamp,  and  I  saw  her  childish  face  working  with 
he  mtensity  of  her  prayer. 

Presently  we  heard  Father  Owen  coming  in  with  Barney 
who  was  to  blow  the  organ  for  him.     The  brightness  of  the 
day  was  giving  place  to  the  shadows  of  the  afternoon,  and  the 
colors  were  fading  gradually  from  the  stained  windows.   Only 
the  hght  of  the  sanctuary  lamp  gleamed  out  in  the  dusk 
The  pnest  touched  the  keys  lightly  at  first;    then  he  began 
to  play,  w,th  exquisite  finish,  some  of  the  simple  hymns  to 
the  B  essed  V.rgm  which  we  had  known  since  our  childhood. 
Hail   Virgin,  dearest  Mary,  our   lovely  Queen  of  Mayt" 
On  this  day   O  beautiful  M  -her!  "     "Oh,  blest  fore'er  the 
Mother  and  Virgin  full  of  grace."    followed  each  other  in 
quick  succession.     He  passed  from  these  to  "Gentle  Star  of 
Ocean !      and  finally  to  "  Lead,  Kindl;-  Light  " 

The  notes  fell  true  and  pure  with  a  wonderful  force  and 
sweetness,  which  produced  a  singular  eflfect.  It  seemed  as 
It  every  word  were  being  spoken  direct  to  the  soul.  I  felt 
as  .f  I  could  have  stayed  there  forever  listening;  and  I  was 
.struck  with  the  expression  of  Winifred's  face  as  she  came 
away  from  the  altar,  advancing  toward  me  through  the  gloom 
Her  face  upturned  to  the  altar,  was  aglow  with  the  bright- 
ness of  the  sanctuary  lamp. 

"Isn't  it  beautiful?"   she  whispered. 
I  assented,  and  I  saw  that  peace  was  made  between  us- 
for  there  was  the  old  friendliness  in  look  and  tone     But  I 
said,  to  make  assurance  doubly  sure: 


'  1 


ii6 


HOW  FATHER  OWEN  WON  THE  DAY. 


"  This  is  a  good  place  to  forgive  me,  dear,  and  to  think 
over  my  plan  in  its  true  light." 

"You  shall  forg've  me!  I  ought  to  have  been  glad  and 
grateful,"   Winifred  answeicu  quite  humbly. 

There  wan  a  great  sadness  in  her  voice,  however;  for 
the  sorrows  of  childhood  are  very  real  and  very  deep,  though 
they  do  not  last. 

"  Father  Owen  plays  every  trouble  away  into  peace,"  I 
observed. 

"  Yes,"    Winifred  replied  dreamily. 

Then  we  heard  Father  Oweii  coming  down  from  the  loft, 
and  we  stepped  outside,  thinking  to  meet  him  there  and  thank 
him  for  his  music.  But  instead  he  went  directly  into  the 
church,  and  I  returned  thither  to  wait  for  his  coming.  I 
could  just  discern  his  figure  kneeling  on  the  ahar-step,  the 
altar-lamp  forming  a  halo  about  his  venerable  head;  and  I 
heard  his  voice  repeating  over  and  over  again,  in  accents  of 
intense  fervor:  "  My  Jesus,  mercy !  My  Jesus,  mercy !  "  No 
other  prayer  only  that. 

I  stole  away,  more  impressed  than  I  had  ever  been,  out 
into  the  lovely  summer  twilight.  Winifred's  hand  was  locked 
in  mine  as  we  went. 

"  I  hope,"  I  said  before  we  parted,  "  that  you  will  soon 
be  very  happy  over  my  project — or,  at  least,  very  brave." 

"  I  shall  try  to  be  very  brave,"  she  answered ;  "  and  then 
perhaps  I'll  be  happy.    Father  Owen  says  so,  anyway." 

"  He  is  a  wise  man  and  a  saint,"   I  answered. 

"  Oh,  yes !  "  she  assented,  with  pretty  enthusiasm.  "  He 
is  just  like  St.  Patrick  himself." 

After  that  she  accepted  the  situation  cheerfully,  and  I 
never  again  heard  her  protest  against  going  to  America. 
,Father  Owen  Iiad  won  the  day. 


THE  CAVE  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS. 


"7 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  CAVE  IN  THE   MOUNTAINS. 

The  time  fixed  for  our  departure  was  drawing  all  too 
near ;  for  the  summer  had  been  a  delightful  one.  whh  mucT 
land  .  M  ■■  '"'  """*  •=°"^*^"'  sunshine-rare  m  that 
had  v.s>ted  the  Dev.l's  Glen,  with  its  wondrous  falls,  its  turb- 
ulen  streams,  .ts  mountain  heights,  reached  by  a  path  of 
tangled  bloom.  I  had  seen  the  "  sweet  Vale  of  Avoc^  -  and 
Avonmore.  and  Glendalough.  with  its  seven  ruined  churches; 
and  St.  Kevms  Bed,  and  all  the  other  delights  of  Wicklow 
the  garden  of  Ireland.  vv.cklow. 

On  most  of  these  expeditions  I  had  been  accompanied  by 
Wm.fred,  w.th  Barney  and  Moira.  If  we  were  driving 
Barney  acted  as  driver  and  guide  at  once;  if  we  were  on 
foot,  he  earned  the  luncheon  basket.  Very  often  we  set  out 
when  the  dew  was  still  on  the  grass  and  the  morning-^ 
had  scarcely  faded  from  the  sky. 

R  J"'  *r.7''  °"'  """'^  'P°*  *°  ^  ^'^'^^-l'  -"d  this  time 
Barney  and  Mo.ra  were  not  to  be  of  the  party     Winifred  hTn 

persuaded  Nial.  to  take  us  to  the  Phou.lpLk!,  "a^d  show 

treasure!  \7T:T  ""^  "  "''"''  ""'  '^'^P*  '"''''-  l^- 
neof  L;       ?  ''  *°"''''  *°  *'"''  ^'^'*  -'^h  a  curious  blend- 

Z  V  T  o  '""°"''-  ^'""  ^^  ^  ^^"'''''^  '"  his  moods, 
and  Father  Owen  agreed  with  me  in  thinking  that  at  times 
h.s  mmd  was  unsettled  and  his  temper  dangerous.  Still  I 
determined  to  take  the  risk. 


ii8 


THE  CAVE  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS. 


One  warm  day  in  July  Winifred  and  I  set  out  in  company 
with  Niall — not,  indeed,  that  he  gave  us  much  of  his  society. 
When  we  were  in  the  car  he  drove  in  gloomy  silence;  when 
we  were  afoot  he  walked  on  ahead,  wrapped  ir  his  cloak,  with 
an  air  of  gloomy  preoccupation,  his  sugar-loaf  hat  serving 
as  a  sign-post  which  we  were  to  follow. 

When  we  came  up  at  last  to  this  celebrated  spot,  my  breath 
was  fairly  taken  away  by  its  wild  and  mournful  grandeur. 
Waterfall  after  waterfall  came  down  from  a  height  of  two 
hundred  feet,  over  great,  rocky  precipices,  being  spanned  by 
a  single  arched  bridge  of  Gothic  (design.  On  one  side  of  the 
falls  are  tasteful  grounds,  with  shaded  walks  and  seats  for 
the  convenience  of  visitors ;  on  the  other,  all  is  wild  and 
barren — rock  rising  above  rock,  crag  above  crag,  in  a  morose 
solitude. 

It  was  toward  this  solitude  that  Niall  led  us,  the  noije  of 
the  waterfalls  completely  drowning  our  voices.  We  strode 
on  by  devious  paths,  turning  more  and  more  away  from  the 
water  and  upward  by  a  steep  ascent,  till  we  found  ourselves 
in  surroundings  shunned  by  the  common  folk,  and  wild, 
gloomy  and  forbidding  enough  to  justify  all  that  popular 
superstition  said  of  this  region.  Once  we  paused  to  take 
breath,  and  I  looked  down  from  an  eminence  on  the  waters 
rushing  madly  to  the  tranquil  glen  below ;  and  then  I  turned 
my  gaze  from  the  Gothic  bridge,  the  wck  of  man,  to  the 
mountain  crag,  the  work  of  the  Creator. 

Suddenly  Niall  turned  an  abrupt  angle,  Winifred  and  I 
creeping  after  him.  I  was  full  of  fear;  but  Winifred  was 
fearless  and  smiling,  holding  my  hand  and  encouraging  me 
as  though  I  had  been  a  child.  We  stopped  before  a  tangled 
mass  of  vines  and  brushwood.  Niall  pushed  them  aside,  dis- 
closing a  small,  dark  entrance  in  the  rocks,  through  which  he 


THE  CAVE  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS.  1,9 

passed,  signing  for  us  to  follow  him.    This  we  did,  Winifred 
whispering : 

"  It's  the  cavern.     I  was  here  once  before— that  time  I 
told  you  I  was  going  to  the  Phoul-a-Phooka." 

We  bent  our  heads  as  we  saw  Niall  do,  for  the  entrance 
was  very  low;    and  we  advanced  some  paces  along  a  kind 
of  passageway  cut  in  the  rock  either  by  the  hand  of  Nature 
or  by  some  long-forgotten  outlaw  of  the  hills.     A  .surprise 
awaited  us,  such  as  is  common  enough  in  underground  places; 
for  we  emerged  all  at  once  from  the  dark  into  a  large  and 
tolerably  well-lighted  apartment.     The  rugged  walls  of  rock 
moss-covered    in    places,    were    dry;     the    floor    was    neatly 
boarded  over,  and  a  fire  was  ready  for  lighting  in  a  corner. 
Above  it,  a  cranny  in  the  wall  permitted  the  smoke  to  escape. 
In  a  little  alcove  apart  from  the  principal  cave  were  a  bod, 
a  few  chairs,  and  a  table. 

"  Niall  lives  here  for  weeks  at  a  time,"  explained  Winifred. 
Niall  had  set  a  match  to  the  fire;  for,  warm  as  the 
weather  was  outside,  there  was  a  chilliness  within  as  of  a 
vault.  Presently  the  sods  blazed  up,  the  flames  leaping  and 
glowmg  about  the  stooping  figure  of  the  old  man,  who  seemed 
hke  some  strange  magician.  We  seated  ourselves  on  the 
rough,  deal  chairs,  near  a  table  of  similar  material  that  oc- 
cupied the  middle  of  the  cave;  and  Niall  opened  a  curiously 
contrived  cupboard  and  brought  forth  some  plates  and  cups 
and  saucers.  Winifred,  opening  our  luncheon  basket,  took 
out  and  spread  upon  the  table  its  simple  contents— cold  meat 
home-made  bread,  a  pat  of  fresh  butter,  and  a  jar  of  apple 
jelly,  which  the  landlord  had  specially  recommended. 

Niall  then  abruptly  left  the  cavern,  and  returned  in  a  few 
mmutes  with  a  pitcher  of  goat's  milk;  but  how  or  where  he 
had  obtained  it  he  did  not  explain. 


130 


THE  CAVE  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS. 


"  I  think  he  keeps  some  goats  out  there  on  the  rocks," 
said  Winifred  in  a  low  voice  to  me,  "  so  that  he  can  drink  the 
milk  when  he  is  living  here." 

Our  walk  had  given  us  an  appetite;  the  coolness  of  the 
place,  despite  the  fire,  was  refreshing.  Winifred  was  in  high 
spirits,  making  a  jest  of  everything  and  thoroughly  enjoying 
the  simple  repast.  I,  forgetting  my  late  fears,  was  also  dis- 
posed to  be  merry.  NiaH  alone  maintained  a  moody  silence, 
eating  but  little,  and  drinking  only  sparingly  of  the  goat's 
milk.  When  the  meal  was  over,  ^inifred  fetched  some  water 
from  a  mountain  spring,  and  we  washed  the  dishes  in  a  rude 
earthen  vessel  and  restored  them  to  their  places  in  the  cup- 
board built  against  tlie  rock.  When  this  was  done,  Niall  said 
abruptly : 

"  I  will  show  you  now  what  you  have  come  here  to  sei.  — 
the  treasure  which  the  earth  has  yielded  up  to  me.  Some  of 
these  things  are  from  the  tombs  of  kings  or  warriors;  some 
buried  at  the  time,  perhaps,  of  the  Danish  invasion.  They 
are  all,  I  believe,  of  value,  greater  or  less." 

When  he  had  thus  spoken  he  began  to  creep  around  the 
cavern  with  a  furtive,  stealthy  movement,  examining  every 
chink  and  cranny,  as  though  unseen  eyes  were  watching  him. 
At  last  he  approached  a  certain  comer,  withdrawing  again, 
and  looking  all  around  him  with  eager,  troubled  eyes.  Then 
he  touched  what  seemed  to  be  a  secret  spring,  and  before  us 
was  another  dark  passage. 

This  dark  passage  had  been  made  by  some  former  oc- 
cupant of  the  cave,  who  stood,  perhaps,  in  danger  of  his  life. 
We  entered,  and  at  the  end  of  it  was  a  second  and  mud-, 
smaller  cavern,  the  darkness  of  which  was  relieved  by  the 
gleam  of  shining  metal.  I  stood  still  and  drew  my  breath 
hard.    Was  I  dreaming,  or  had  I  gone  back  to  the  world  of 


THE  CAVE  Iff  THE  MOUNTAINS.  ,« 

the  Arabian  Night.?    This  could  not  be  Ireland,  and  Niall  a 
prosa.c,  end-of-thc-century  Irishman!     He  mus    surel/^  a 

i^^rrnd  th'''';T;u^*'''=  ^^""  ^^^"^  ^-^  ^^^^^^ 

amp     and  the  ch.ld  bes.de  him,  in  her  delicate,  aerial  love- 

mr,  ;r '''"'  ^""^'"^ ''' ''---'  ^'  ^"^  --"  - 

Niall.  putting  aside  his  gloom,  suddenly  brightened  into 
enthusiasm,  wh.ch  lighted  up  his  face  as  with  the  fire  of 

of  the  beaufful  lad.es  in  shining  satin  robes,  who  had  worn 

Its  o7  rr"'^-*'''  "^"'*  °^  ''^°-'^--  ^he  breast- 
PU  es  of  thm  burn,shed  gold,  the  crowns,  the  bracelets,  the 
collars,  some  studded  with  precious  gems.    And  there  w 

tfp  from  th     W    '^  "'^"'"^^  '°'"  *'^^  ^^^  -'^'^h  '-  had  dug 

The  time  seemed  to  pass  as  in  a  dream.    We  were  never 
.^d   hstenmg.   Niall   of   dwelling   upon   the  glories   of  h 
^e  sure-house.     The   old   man   had    spent   hours   and   day 
pohshmg  those  articles  with  chemicals,  with  whose  use  he 
was  wel.  acquainted,  an^  some  of  which  gave  out  a  strLt 
pungent  odor;   for  it  had  been  no  small  Lr  to  clean    way 
the  rust  perhaps  of  ages.  ^ 

fullv  ^rZ  '"'  ^  "'T'*  ""^  °^  *''^"''"  Niall  said  moum- 
-t  .s  hard    hard;    but  I  add  a  little  each  time  to  the  pile  of 
com^  When  the  day  comes  I  shall  sell  them  all^lP  " 
He  motioned  us  to  go  out  again  into  the  first  'cavern- 

ink  ir  ^"^  *'  ''""''  '^  ^•'°^'^"  ^'-^  'he  treasurlaTd' 
sank  once  more  mto  a  listless  .nood,  seated  at  the  table  his 
head  buned  m  his  hands.    Winifred,  who  had  listened  w^h 


CT 


tsa 


THE  CAVE  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS. 


«>pen-mouthed  delight  to  Niall's  tales  of  the  past,  and  had 
been  as  much  interested  in  seeing  the  treasures  as  though 
she  saw  them  for  the  first  time,  now  sat  thoughtfully  beside 
me.  gazing  into  the  fire.  Presently  she  grow  tired  of  inaction, 
and,  springing  to  her  feet,  began  to  dance  about  the  cavern 
— a  graceful,  charming  figure  in  that  rocky  setting.  And  as 
she  danced  she  chanted  a  weird  song  in  the  Irish  tongue, 
which  Nial!  had  taught  her. 

Gradually  Niall  raised  his  head.  The  air  or  the  words 
of  the  song  seemed  to  have  a  strange  effect  upon  him— to 
rouse  him,  as  it  were,  from  his  lethargy.  He  fixed  his  eyes 
upon  Winifred,  watching  her  every  movement  with  a  fierce 
eagerness.  Then  his  eyes  turned  upon  me,  and  there  was  the 
fire  almost  of  insanity  lighting  them.  As  he  gazed  he  rose 
from  his  chair,  coming  toward  me  with  a  slow,  gliding  step, 
while  I  sat  paralyzed  with  terror. 

"Why  should  I  not  kill  you,"  he  said,  in  a  deep,  low 
tone,  like  the  growling  of  some  mountain  torrent,  "  and  bury 
you  here  in  the  hills  ?  You  have  brought  the  curse  upon  nie. 
Like  the  carrion  bird,  your  coming  has  heralded  evil.  My 
heart  is  burning  within  me  because  of  the  sorrow  that  con- 
sumes it.  You  have  charmed  the  child  from  me  to  take  her 
away  to  the  unknown  land." 

"  But  remember,"  I  managed  to  say,  "  that  it  is  with  your 
consent,  an  '  that  I  have  promised  to  bring  her  back  again 
when  you  will." 

"  Promised !  "  lie  repeated  fiercely.  "As  if  you  could  con- 
trol events — govern  the  wilful  mind  of  a  child  and  force  her 
to  remember !  " 

There  was  a  deadly  calmness  in  his  voice,  more  fearful 
than  the  wildest  outburst  of  anger ;  and  I  trembled  so  violently 
that  I  could  almost  hear  my  teeth  chattering. 


THE  CAfE  IN  THF.  MOUNTAINS.  „j 

tr  Jh^"'  A  "If  '"'''■    "^°"  "'  "'''"■''  °f  ">•=•     I  «"  "-«  y°" 
tremble.    And  you  may  well;   for  Niall,  in  hi,  wrath,  is  tor- 

nble  as  the  mountain  torrent  in  its  course." 

I  fixed  my  eyes  upon  him  as  upon  a  wild  beast  whose  fury 
1  was  stnvmgr  to  tame.  Every  moment  I  feared  that  he 
might  sprmg  upon  me.  when  the  voice  of  Winifred  su.ldenlv 
broke  the  spell.  It  was  evident  she  had  not  at  first  perceived 
what  was  going  on. 

»    l^TVl  ,'.*)!  "^'^  i'"P«ri°"sIy-     "What  are  you  saving 
to  the  lady?    Why  are  you  trying  to  frighten  her '  "        ' 
She  interposed  her  slender  figure  between  us  as  she  spoke. 
Nialls  eyes  sought  the  ground  in  a  crestfallen  manner, 
and  he  muttered: 

"  Forgive  me,  my  little  lady !  " 

"  I  won't  forgive  you  if  you  act  like  that  any  more,  Niall  •  " 
she  declared.    "  You  know  how  the  old  chieftains  and  kiuR, 
you  are  always  talking  about  treated  their  guests.    And  isn't 
the  lady  your  guest  here  in  your  own  cavern,  Niall?" 
Niall  murmured: 

"I  forgot,  I  forgot!  Tis  all  my  poor  head.  At  times  I 
can  Amk  only  of  one  thing-that  she  is  taking  you  awav  " 

w  •V"1  '*"  ^°"  '^''°  '"''"*  ""^  *°  «^°  f"--  "ly  own  good." 
Wmifred  said  gravely. 

Niall  turned  away  with  a  groan. 

"  I  am  willing  to  go."  Winifred  went  on.  "  because  Father 
Owen  said  I  should.  He  knows  what  is  best.  He  told  me  it 
was  God  sent  the  lady  here." 

Niall  broke  into  an  uncontrollable  fury,  which  caused  even 
Ymifred  to  step  back. 

"What  care  I  for  Father  Owen  or  the  ladv?"    he  ex 
claimed.  '  ' 

Her  face  was  pale;   I  think  it  was  the  first  time  she  had 


1*4 


THE  CAVE  IN  THE  VOUNTAINS. 


ever  been  afraid  of  Niall.  But  she  faced  the  old  man  bravely ; 
though  his  face,  working  with  passion,  his  streaming  hair 
and  huge  frame  made  him  look  like  a  veritalte  Cyclops. 

"  Be  still,  Niall,"  she  cried,  "  or  the  Udy  and  I  will  go 
away  out  of  your  cave  this  minute,  and  be  very  sorry  that 
we  came  here." 

She  put  her  small  hand  on  his  arm,  and  the  touch  seemed 
to  calm  him. 

"  Forgive  me  I  "  he  murmured  once  more,  in  the  helpless, 
bewildered  tone  of  a  little  child ;'  and,  sinking  again  into  one 
of  the  chairs  near  the  table,  he  buried  his  face  in  his  hands 
and  so  remained  for  some  moments.  We  did  not  disturb 
him  by  so  much  as  a  word;  but  I,  relieved  somewhat  from 
my  late  suspense,  though  dreading  a  new  acc.bs  >;  fury,  and 
eager  to  be  gone,  let  my  eyes  rove  round  that  singular  place. 
The  rugged  face  of  the  rock  above  our  heads  and  all  around 
was  lit  by  the  crackling  flames  of  the  turf  which  burned  so 
brightly.  I  was  startled  from  my  thoughts  by  the  voice  of 
Niall;  but  this  time  it  was  soft  ar-'  low  as  that  of  Winifred 
herself.  Suddenly  rising  from  his  chair,  he  made  me  i  low 
bow  and  offered  a  humble  apology  for  his  late  rudeness. 
After  that  he  was  the  same  amiable  and  courteous  gentleman 
he  so  often  appeared,  and  as  pleasant  as  possible,  talking  a 
great  deal  and  telling  us  many  interesting  things. 

"  In  this  cave,"  he  said,  "  during  the  penal  times  more 
than  one  priest  took  refuge.  Mass  was  said  here,  and  the 
people  flocked  from  far  and  near  to  attend  it.  Here  in  the 
troubles  of  '98  it  is  said  that  the  patriot  O'Byme  took  refuge. 
This  may  be  the  precise  cavern  in  which  he  dwelt,  or  it  may 
not;   but  it  gives  the  place  an  interest — a  sad  interest." 

He  paused  and  looked  around  him  for  an  instant. 

"  I  shall  love  this  cave  better  than  ever  now,"   said  Wini- 


THE  CAVE  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS.  uj 

fred;  "and  I  shall  often  think  of  it  when  I  am  far  awav  in 
the  New  World—" 

Her  voice  broke  a  little. 

"  Think  of  it.  my  child !  "  cried  Niall.  "  01.  'o  think  of 
it  when  you  are  far  beyond  the  ocean  I  Think  of  whatever 
will  make  you  love  Ireland  and  make  you  remember." 

The  tears  coursed  down  his  cheeks  and  there  was  aneuish 
m  his  voice. 

"Don't  cry.  Niall!"  said  Winifred.  "  I  shall  always  re- 
member you  and  your  cave  and  dear  old  Granny  and  Wicklow 
and  Ireland." 

She  said  the  words  as  solemnly  as  if  they  were  a  vow 
and  they  had  a  weird  sound  there  in  that  hole  in  the  rocks' 
which  had  sheltered  many  a  noble  and  saintly  soul 

;•  There  .spoke  my  o«n  iadyl"   cried  Niall.  triumphantlv. 

Nothing  shall  ever  make  me  forget,"  added  Winifred. 

I,  for  my  part,"  I  broke  in.  "shall  do  my  best  to  help 

you  to  remember;   and  so  I  solemnly  promise  here  on  this 

holy  ground,  where  Mass  has  been  said  and  where  martyrs 

have  trod."  ' 

It  was  near  evening  when  we  left  that  wonderful  spot, 
and.  deafened  once  more  by  the  noise  of  the  Phoul-a-Phooka 
retraced  our  steps  in  silence. 


laS 


IN  THE  CAPITAL 


CHAPTER   XVI. 


IN   THE   CAPITAL. 

The  Aug^ust  morning  which  was  to  see  our  departure 
dawned  at  last.  The  leave-taking  with  old  Granny  Meehan 
was  very  pathetic.  The  poor  woman,  with  her  deep  resigna- 
tion, her  confidence  in  God's  providence,  was  a  striking  il- 
lustration of  the  best  virtues  of  her  race.  Calmly  she  bade 
us  farewell,  praying  many  a  prayer,  invoking  many  a  blessing 
on  the  beloved  head  of  her  little  charge.  We  left  her  sitting 
at  her  accustomed  scat  near  the  hearth,  with  Tabby  purring 
against  her  and  the  pleasant  sunshine  flooding  the  apartment. 

Winifred  had  been  up  early,  as  she  said,  to  bid  "good-by !" 
to  every  stick  and  stone.  She  called  each  fowl  in  the  court- 
yard by  name,  as  she  had  done  on  that  other  morning  when 
I  saw  her  feeding  them;  and  her  tears  fell  silently  as  she 
bent  over  them. 

When  the  moment  came  to  say  the  last  farewell,  Winifred 
seized  Brown  Peter,  the  cat,  in  her  arms;  and  the  animal 
blinked  knowingly,  and  purred  and  rubbed  its  head  against 
her  soft  cheek.  Then  Winifred  threw  her  arms  once  more 
around  Granny's  neck,  and  that  part  of  the  leave-taking  was 
over.  Barney  and  Moira  set  up  a  howl  and  folic  wed  us  down 
as  far  as  the  inn,  where  the  jaunting-car  with  the  -uggage 
was  waiting  for  us. 

Niall  I  did  not  see  at  all.  He  had  taken  leave  of  Winifred 
the  evening  before,  and  then,  with  a  wild  gesture  of  despair, 
had  fied  to  the  hills.    He  left  for  me  a  letter  of  instructions, 


m  THE  CAPITAL.  ,„ 

ra.Jling  a<l  ,r,  promises  and  the  conditions  opon  which  he 
ha  !  a.o«,ed  tl..  child  to  go.  With  the  letter  was  a  sum  of 
mo.n.y  to  he  used  for  Winifred's  education.  Could  I  have 
seen  h.m  I  would  have  begged  him  to  take  back  this  latter- 
for  when  I  had  proposed  taking  the  girl  with  me  to  America 
and  puttmg  her  in  a  convent,  it  was,  of  course,  to  be  at  my 
own  expense.  I  n,entally  resolved  not  to  spend  a  penny  of 
the  amount,  but  to  put  it  at  interest  for  Winifred 

At  the  inn  we  found  Father  Owen  in  conversation  with 
the  landlord  He  came  forward  at  once  to  greet  us,  crying 
out  cheerfully  to  the  child:  ^ 

"So  there  you  are.  my  pet,  setting  out  upon  your 
travels  to  seek    your  fortune,  like  the  people  in  the   fairy 

Winifred's  grief,  which  had  been  of  a  gentle  and  restrained 
character  throughout,  and  unlike  what  might  have  been  ex- 
pected from  her  impetuous  disposition,  broke  out  again  at 
sight  of  her  beloved  friend. 

"  Tut,  tut,  my  child !  "  cried  the  priest.    "  This  isn't  April 
Nature  is  smiling,  and  you  must  smile  too.     You're  goine 
away  to  a  great,  fine  country;   and  when  you've  seen  every 
thmg,  you  11  be  coming  back  to  tell  us  all  about  it " 

Wm,fred  wept  silently,  her  tears  falling  down  upon  her 
gingham  frock,  so  that  she  had  to  wipe  them  away.     Father 

StTer"  Tfv  *°,  "^.';"^*"'^'"^  '*  b^«-.  perhaps,  to  let  the 
bitter,  short-hved  grief  of  childhood  take  its  course 

"And  so  you're  leaving  Wicklow  and  Ireland,  carrying 
with  you,  I  hope,  a  good  impression." 

"  That  I  am,"  I  responded  heartily;  "  and  my  most  fervent 
wish  IS  that  I  may  come  back  again." 

"  To  be  sure  you  will,  with  Winifred  here:  and  I  hope,  if 
It  be  God  s  will,  we'll  all  be  here  to  receive  you." 


128 


IN  THE  CAPITAL. 


"  I  hope  so  indeed,"  I  answered. 

"  I  had  a  letter  a  few  days  ago  from  Father  Brady  in 
New  York,"  went  on  Father  Owen.  "  I  was  in  the  seminary 
with  him  in  France.  He  knows  you  well  and  is  glad  I  made 
your  acquaintance." 

"  I  have  known  Father  Brady  for  many  years,"  I  replied ; 
"  he  is  a  great  friend  of  mine." 

The  old  priest  nodded  as  if  to  express  his  satisfaction.  I 
thought,  perhaps,  he  had  written  to  make  assurance  doubly 
sure  as  to  my  fitness  for  the  care  of  the  child.  If  so,  I  could 
only  admire  his  wisdom. 

"  Niall  is  in  a  bad  way,"  he  whispered ;  "  and  will  be,  I 
don't  doubt,  for  days  to  come.  I  met  him  raging  and  tearing 
through  the  woods  like  a  maniac.  That  is  his  manner  of  ex- 
pressing grief.  It  was  useless  to  argue  with  him,  so  I  just 
had  to  come  away  and  leave  him." 

I  told  Father  Owen  how  shocked  I  was  to  hear  this,  but 
he  answered: 

"Oh,  he  will  get  over  the  worst  of  it  in  a  few  days! 
How  different,  though,  from  Granny  Meehan!  I  went  in 
to  see  her  yesterday.  She's  marked  with  grace,  is  that  poor 
blind  woman.  '  It's  God's  will  for  the  child  to  go,'  she  said ; 
'and  if  I  never  have  her  with  me  again  herebelow.  why. we'll 
meet  above  in  glory,  and  we'll  be  the  happier  for  this  sorrow." 
Wasn't  that  beautiful,  my  dear  lady?  didn't  it  make  me 
ashamed  of  my  own  shortcomings ! " 
I  assented  heartily. 

"  Yes,  Father:  she  has  a  fine  nature  and  a  beautiful  faith." 
Meanwhile  Winifred  dried  her  tears,  and  was  trying  to 
soothe  her  humble  friends,  who  had  accompanied  us  with 
lamentations  all  the  way. 

"  I'll  come  back  again,"  Winifred  said  to  them ;  "  I  won't 


AV  THE  CAPITAL. 


»29 


be  very  long  away,  and  Til  bring  each  of  vou  something  from 
America." 

Her  voice  quivered  as  she  made  these  promises,  which 
caused  Moira's  face  to  brighten  a  little  through  her  tears, 
and  Barney  to  stammer  out,  brokenly: 

"  Och,  then.  Miss  Winifred  alanna,  if  you  bring  us  back 
yourself,  it's  all  we'll  be  wantin' !  " 

His  red  eyes  and  tear-stained  cheeks  gave  force  and  sin- 
cerity to  his  words. 

"  Be  a  man  now,  Barney,"  said  Father  Owen,  "  and  just 
tell  Miss  Winifred  you  wish  her  joy  in  the  fine  voyage  she's 
gomg  to  take.  Come,  Moira  my  girl,  dry  your  eyes  and  say 
good-by.  Look  how  the  sun  is  shining,  and  think  how  the 
goodness  of  God  is  over  those  that  go  and  those  that  stay 
just  hke  yonder  blue  sky.  Hear  the  thrush  and  the  blackbird 
m  the  hedges  giving  glory  to  God  whatever  comes." 

By  this  time  we  were  seated  in  the  car.  I  exclianged  a 
few  farewell  words  with  my  landlord,  who  showed  real 
emotion  at  our  departure. 

"  God  be  with  you,  ma'am !  "  he  cried.  "  It's  yourself  has 
brightened  us  all  up  for  weeks  past.  And  God  be  with  you 
too.  Miss  Winifred  dear!  Sure  we'll  be  missin'  your  very 
pranks.  Do  you  mind  the  day  that  you  led  me  astray  in  the 
hills  above,  makin'  b'lieve  you  were  a  Will-o'-the  wisp  ?  " 

And  the  landlord  forced  a  laugh,  which  was  not  very 
genuine.  I  think  he  would  have  continued  his  reminiscences 
longer  had  not  Father  Owen  judged  it  best  to  put  an  end  to 
the  parting  scene. 

"Don't  be  keeping  them  any  longer,"  he  said-  "let 
them  get  away  before  the  heat  of  the  day.  And  now 
1 11  give  you  my  last  blessing,  Winifred  my  dear,  and  your 
kind  inend  too." 


130 


IN  THE  CAPITAL 


Winifred  knelt  at  the  M  priest's  feet  in  the  morning  sun- 
shine. I,  being  already  seated  in  the  car,  bent  my  head. 
Father  Owen  solemnly  raised  his  hand— the  consecrated  hand 
of  God's  minister,— looking  unwai-d.  while  his  white  hair 
framed  his  face  like  an  aureola.  Fervently  he  invoked  the 
blessing  of  Heaven  upon  me  and  upon  the  child,  upon  our 
voyage  and  our  arrival.  His  voice  broke  as  he  came  to  the 
last  words,  and  he  attempted  to  say  no  more ;  while  I  made 
a  sign  to  the  driver,  who  drove  quickly  from  the  door,  fol- 
lowed by  a  parting  howl  from  Barney  and  Moira. 

I  stole  a  last  glance  at  the  lovely  Glen  of  the  Dargle,  the 
waterfall  in  the  distance,  and  the  natural  bridge  spanning 
the  ravine,  on  which  I  had  first  seen  Winifred.  The  thought 
flashed  into  my  mind  that  I  had  come  into  the  paradise  of 
her  youth,  disturbing  its  idyllic  peace;  whether  for  better  or 
worse  was  yet  to  be  seen.  I  consoled  myself  with  the  as- 
surance that,  in  any  event,  I  had  acted  for  the  best. 

We  took  the  Enniskerry  road  to  Dublin,  and  the  drive 
was  delightful.  At  one  point  in  the  journey  we  passed  be- 
tween the  rude  granite  sides  of  that  cleft  in  the  mountains 
known  as  "The  Scalp."  As  I  looked  up  at  them  in  their 
stem  grandeur  I  had  an  uneasy  feeling  that  some  of  the 
huge  masses  of  rock,  which  appeared  to  be  quite  loose,  might 
tumble  upon  our  heads.  Winifred,  who  was  becoming,  if  not 
more  cheerful,  at  least  more  composed,  was  greatly  interested 
in  "  The  Scalp,"  and  told  me  the  legend  of  the  place. 

"The  devil,"  she  said,  "was  once  driving  sheep  to  Dublin, 
and  when  he  reached  this  moutitain  he  couldn't  get  through 
it.  So  he  gave  a  great  kick  with  his  foot  and  made  the 
passage  for  himself  and  his  flocks.  And  that,  'tis  said,  is 
why  it  is  so  wild  and  strange.  But  of  course  it  isn't 
true,"    Winifred   concluded,    eying   the   great    rocks    abov« 


IN   THF.  CAPITAL. 
us^  wm,^her  wistful  eyes.    "Stin.it  is  different  fro„,o  J 

"It  has  an  uncouth  shape,"  I  agreed;    "and  I  suppose 
1-ts  what  put  .t  into  the  people's  heads  that  the  devil Ts 
liave  had  a  hand  in  its  formation." 

\Ve  arrived  in  Dublin  somewhat  tired  after  our  drive 
wh.ch  was  not  however,  so  very  long;  and  found  our  Ives' 
comfortably  lodged  by  night  in  a  hotel  on  Sackville  Street 
whence  we  , ere  to  set  forth  again  on  our  travels  in  a  flw  ^y  ' 
For  I  had  purposely  arranged  that  we  might  spend  a  little  time 
m  the  cap.tal  of  Ireland,  so  that  Winifred  might  get  at  lea ^ 
b.rd  s-eye  v.ew  of  it.    I  could  not  guess  wha^  was  paLing  in 

.n  th"">    h!'7'  """*  °"*'  '^'"^  ^^^**"^  ^  ^''''^'  t°  «f°"  about 
.n  the  hghted  streets.   She  had  never  been  in  a  city  before,  and 

must  have  been  interested  in  so  much  that  was  novel.   But  she 
said  little:  she  had  not  yet  recovered  her  natural  buoyancy 

The  following  morning,  however,  we  set  out  specially  for 
Mght-seeing.  We  went  for  a  walk  in  the  Phoenix  Park  and 
from  a  vantage-point  near  the  magazine  looked  down  on  the 
entire  city  with  its  splendid  bridges,  its  domes  and  spires. 
We  saw  the  Nelson  Pillar  and  the  Wellington  Monument 
and  we  roamed  at  will  along  the  verdant  banks  of  the  beautiful 
Liffey.  We  saw  u.e  Viceregal  Lodge  and  the  Corinthian 
Pillar  and  the  Royal  Hospital  of  Kilmainham.  Then  of 
course,  we  had  to  see  the  churches.  It  would  be  tedious  in- 
deed to  set  down  here  all  that  we  did  see. 

We  were  walking  along  Westmoreland  Street  one  after- 
noon, just  as  the  sun  w:.s  setting.  There  had  been  a  heavy 
shower,  which  had  relieved  the  sultriness  of  an  August  day, 
and  the  ground  was  damp ;  but  the  trees  were  a  brighter  green 
and  sent  forth  a  sweeter  fragrance  for  the  rain.  Win^^red 
said  suddenly: 


132 


IX  THE  CAPITAL 


"  I  remember  this  place  very  well-Dublin.  I  mean.  I  was 
here  long  ago,  when  I  was  little." 

"Yes'    I  suppose  one's  memory  do^s  go  back  very  far, 
I  observed  thoughtfully.     "  But  can  you  recall,  for  instance, 
where  you  lived?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  It  was  in  a  big  house,"  she  answered,  "  with  a  good 
many  stairs  in  it  and  a  lot  of  people.  Some  of  them  may 
have  been  servants.  And  I  remember  a  lady  in  a  yellow  dress. 
Perhaps  she  was  my  mother." 

She  stopped  abruptly,  as  though  the  subject  were  pamful; 

then  resumed: 

"  Since  I  came  to  this  place,  I  remember  a  good  many 
things.  The  lady  in  the  yellow  dress  was  standing  one  evening 
in  a  great  big  room,  and  she  had  a  flower  in  her  hair.  Oh, 
she  was  very  beautiful!    A  gentleman  came  in.    He  was  tall 

and  dark." 

"  With  very  bright  eyes  ?  "  I  put  in  eagerly. 
"  Yes,  they  were  bright,"  she  assented ;  "  at  least  I  think 
so  I  remember  the  lady  better  than  the  gentleman.  They 
were  talking,  and  I  couldn't  understand  much  of  what  they 
said-  but  I  am  almost  sure  the  gentleman  was  angry,  for 
his  face  got  very  red.  Then  the  lady  laughed,  and  the  gentle- 
man went  away  quickly  and  shut  the  door  hard.  The  lady 
laughed  again  and  said  to  me:  'I  hope  you  haven't  your 
father's  temper,  child.  Poor  Roderick!  he  does  flare  up  so 
quick.  He  is  just  raving  now  because  I  don't  want  to  go  to 
•;ome  outlandish  place  in  the  hills.'  " 

The  child  stopped,  but  the  little  drama  of  the  past  which 
she  had  evoked  told  me  a  great  deal.  Niall  had  blamed 
Roderick  for  not  bringing  his  wife  to  the  castle;  but  the 
wife-a   somewhat  hard  and  cold  beauty,   as  old   Granny 


m  THE  CAPITAL.  ,^^ 

Meehan  had  once  described  her_wov,Id  not  come.    Roderick 

And  I  wonder  how  he  could  be  an^rv  with  her"  the 
cMd  cont.n„ed,  "she  was  so  pretty  and  haVon Ichriov:^^ 

I  ui!d"*'  "  "'  *''  °"'^  ''''"^'  '"'»  fi-  dress  still  less." 
Winifred  turned  on  me  with  flashing  eyes    as  though  T 

n.y  father  was  angry  with  her "  ^      ' '      ^  ""  '""^ 

"Yet  your  father  has  a  noble  heart,"  I  declared 
She  smiled  as  if  pleased. 

.^  ^'^  W  day  I  may  see  Hin,,"  she  said;   "but  my  mother 

that'w[nif:::rhirra/fafh"  "^'''  ™^'-  -^  «^- 

from  the  subj  ct      Tust    h!l  "'  *""""''  "'"'  "'*°^^*''- 

had  a  distant  vtw  of  L  W  Z"  '"'::"  *°  '  P°'"*  "''--  -«= 
attention  to llm  Shi  T  I  "'■  '  '^^"^'^  ^'"'^^^'^'^ 
and  I  think  aftT;  that  t^^^  "'  *''"  "'*''  tear-dimmed  eyes, 
the  landscape    '  '  *""  ^^^^  ""'^  *"*-"'  '"  *e  rest  of 

"My  own  hills!"   she  said     •' nu    t 
abroad  on  them  now   and  ff  R  '      '™"''''  '^  ^''^"  '» 


«34 


IN  THE  CAPITAL. 
She  can  not  go  out  on  the  hills  nor  sec 


alone — all  alone, 
their  beauty." 

I  tried  to  divert  her  thoughts,  but  for  the  time  being  it 
was  useless.  That  was  our  last  day  in  Dublin.  Early  on  the 
morrow  we  were  to  set  out  for  Liverpool,  whence  we  were 
to  sail  for  the  Land  of  the  Free. 


ARRIVAL  IN  HEW  YORK. 


m 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

ARRIVAL  IN   NEW  YORK. 

Our  voyage  to  America  was  a  very  pleasant  one.     The 
weather  was  excellent.     The  warm  glow  of  midsummer  was 
over  everythmg,  and  the  cool  ocean  breezes  were  most  grate- 
ful as  we  sat  at  evening  on  the  deck  and  watched  the  stars 
burn  above  our  heads  in  the  sky,  which  always  seems  so  vast 
when  one  is  on  the  face  of  the  water.    After  the  first  two  or 
three  days,  neither  of  us  was  seasick,  and  Winifred  took  to 
the  sea  at  once.    She  loved  the  salt  air,  the  cool  spray  blow- 
ing in  her  face  as  she  stood  upon  the  deck,  her  hair  flying 
about  her  and  her  face  aglow.    Often  she  spoke  of  the  dear 
land  she  had  left  and  of  her  dear  ones,  while  her  eyes  filled 
with  teais  and  her  voice  trembled  with  emotion 

One  afternoon,  as  we  watched  the  sun  glinting  on  the 
waves,  Wmifred  said: 

"Just  now  that  same  sun  is  lighting  all  the  hills!  That 
was  what  made  people  call  them,  in  the  Irish  tongue,  the 
hills  of  '  the  gilt  spurs.'  " 

"  That  is  a  pretty  name,"  I  observed ;  "  and  well  describes 
how  they  look  at  this  hour  of  a  fine  evening." 

"I  wish  I  could  see  them  now,"  said  Winifred;  and  then 
she  fell  silent,  as  if  in  thought. 

She  was  very  shy  of  the  strangers  on  board  the  steamer 
and  rarely  exchanged  a  word  with  any  of  them  except  at 
tajle;  though  many  of  them  noticed  her  and  spoke  with  ad- 
miration of  her  charming  face  and  her  graceful  ways 


136 


ARRIVAL  IN  NEW  YORK. 


v\ 


It  was  a  lovely,  calm  morning  when  we  steamed  into  New 
York  Bay.  We  both  were  up  early  and  on  deck;  and  I 
pointed  out  to  Winifred  Staten  Island,  lying  green  and 
garden-like  on  the  water's  breast;  and  Governor's  Island, 
with  its  forts;  and  Bedloe's  Island,  with  its  huge  Liberty 
statue,  the  goddess  standing  with  colossal  torch  at  the  en- 
trance to  the  New  World.  At  last  there  was  New  York  itself, 
the  Empire  City,  the  great  metropolis;  and  over  it  rested  a 
haze,  whence  emerged  the  steeple  of  Old  Trinity,  the  Custom 
House,  and  the  tops  of  various  high  buildings,  which  filled 
Winifred  with  wonder;  she  had  never  seen  anything  like 
these  "  sky-scrapei.';'  as  they  are  called.  She  talked  of  them 
even  after  we  had  Unded,  and  as  we  drove  up  Broadway  to 
the  hotel  were  I  had  my  quarters.  This  great  thoroughfare 
seemed  to  bewilder  her  altogether. 

"The  people!"  she  cried— "  all  the  people!  Why,  they 
are  thicker  together  than  trees  in  a  wood,"  and  she  simply 
stopped  her  ears  against  the  noise.  "  It  seems  as  if  there  was 
a  thunderstorm  going  on  all  the  time!"    she  exclaimed. 

She  was  much  amused  also  at  the  swift,  gliding  motion 
of  the  cable-cars,  unlike  anything  she  had  yet  seen. 

"  Isn't  it  all  wonderful !  "  she  would  cry.  "  Oh,  if  Niall 
could  see  this !  " 

"  He  has  seen  just  as  wonderful  sights  and  far  more  so," 
I  reminded  her.  "  You  know  how  much  he  has  travelled." 
"Well,  if  Barney  and  Moira  and  the  other  people  from 
home  could  see  this  place,  they'd  think  they  were  dreaming. 
I'm  not  quite  sure  that  I  won't  wake  up — only,"  she  added, 
with  one  of  her  droll  looks,  "  I  couldn't  be  asleep  in  such  a 
noise." 

We  had  reached  the  corner  of  Twenty-third  Streeet,  and 
I  saw  Madison  Square  and  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel  arising  on 


ARRIVAL  IN  NEW  YORK 

on  foot.  The  ca^riaee^'  .  .,  "'"^  ""'^'"P*^''  »°  "-' 
insunt.  and  in  Tha  fn  '„t  I  "'  "'  "'"'  *°  """P  ^^  - 
the  street  Roder  aC/  hI  f  "^  ''^  ^''^  "^"^"'^  °^ 
or  anxiety  of  son.e  sort  ^  'ieh  ^h^lT  d"  7'''  ''  "^"^ 
bright  character.  He  was  Si„.  ,u^  uT  "'  "'"''"''y 
while  he  waited  a  favorlT  ^    '"""frhtfuliy  before  him. 

.  Sudden,  hivt^Lr;:  waTthJ^  -tt 
:^HaThei„t:rv:rcof  T-^^^^  - 

the  child,  who  was    ha„ Jlv  '?'"""^  ''^^^  ^^'^"^'-d 

-St  have  been^  Le  tULTeT^"'  "'  ^^^^^''^  ^* 
Fortunately,  he  was  so  ,h«!,w       !•        '^'^°''"^   in    her. 

my  comer  of  the  vehicle  an^  -.A"'  ^"  "'  P°«'»"«  '" 
nioment  the  caXe  stent  „  "^'  »'^^thlessly.  till  next 
bound  by  the  ^ZZtT^X,  '""^  *^°'  "^  "^'"^^'^ 
great  vortex.  "'^'^•''''  ^"«  I«"-t«>d  in  the 

n^X  diSir"S,f,r^^^^^^^^^^  y--^^^  Had  not  glanced  in 
cognized  n,e.  and  I  should  1  Z  ''°""  "'^"■*^'"^  ''''^^  ^«- 
-eeting  with  all'„'af„  '  f'aT.wtS  T'""*^' ^^  °"^  "-* 
not  tell  him  that  his  daughter  was  1^'  ■  "^"^  '  ~""' 
refuse  to  It  .m  see  or  corurte'"wiri7"^  ^"  *^- 

for  thLgnrrd'  Lr  '"^^'''^^"'  •"^«  *°  ^^^-'^^ 

Bublin.  tL  iL^u^lfTNe:  S  r;""^''''  ""^^"^   ■" 
ferent  affair.    The  servicer  I^t  "'""'  '1"'*'^  ^  'l"- 


138 


ARRIVAL  IN  NEW  YORK. 


which  played  sweet  strains  during  all  the  meal,  were  dream- 
like, almost,  to  this  child  of  the  hills.  The  elevator  seemed 
to  her  as  something  very  amusing.  She  would  like  to  have 
gone  up  and  down  in  it  several  times.  She  had  a  charming 
little  room  adjoining  mine,  all  done  in  gray  and  pink,  and  an  . 
outlook  upon  the  gay  street. 

She  could  scarcely  tear  herself  away  from  the  window  in 
the  few  days  that  elapsed  before  I  had  decided  upon  a  school 
for  her  and  made  some  simple  preparations.  Indeed,  I  found 
it  rather  difficult  to  decide  upon  ,a  school  for  the  child,  not 
because  there  were  no  good  ones,  but  for  the  opposite  reason 
that  there  were  so  many.  But  to  one  thing  I  made  up  my 
mind :  she  must  be  out  of  town.  The  presence  of  her  father 
in  New  York  made  that  a  necessity.  Yet,  on  the  other  hand, 
I  could  not  send  her  too  far  away,  as  I  wanted  to  see  her 
often,  mark  her  progress  and  \.\^e  effect  of  austere  school-life 
on  one  who  had  been  accustomeu  to  a  free,  wild  existence 
on  the  beautiful  Wicklow  hills.  It  was  this  circumstance 
which  finally  determined  my  choice.  I  must  be  in  easy  distance 
of  the  child,  so  great  was  my  responsibility. 

I  took  her  to  her  new  home  one  evening  just  as  the 
shadows  were  deepening  and  New  York  lay  like  a  great  map 
traced  out  in  lights.  They  gleamed  and  glowed  through  the 
gathering  darkness,  and  through  the  smoke  clouds  which 
arose  from  the  countless  factories.  I  felt  a  curious  sense  of 
desolation,  and  I  was  certain  that  Winifred  would  suffer 
from  this  when  she  found  herself  enclosed  in  an  unfamiliar 
building,  to  become  a  mere  atom,  as  it  were,  in  a  multitude. 

The  child  was  grave  and  quiet,  but  did  not  seem  to  shrink 
at  all  from  school-life.  In  fact,  she  had  rather  entered  into 
the  prospect  of  going  there  with  the  enthusiasm  of  her  age, 
and  had  begun  to  plan  out  the  details  of  her  new  existence. 


ARRIVAL  IS  NEll-  yqrk.  ,_^ 

She  told  me  after  that  she  had  experienced  an  awful  sense 
o    ionehness  when  going  to  bed  in  a  strange  donnitorv.  with 
.ts  rows  of  curtained  beds,  amongst  so  many  whom  she  had 
never  seen  before.     During  the  night  prayers  and  the  fina 
hymn  she  had  cried  all  the  time. 

These  sensations  are  common  enough  to  all  who  go  into 
new   scenes   for  the   first  time;    but   for  some  week!  aC 
Wm.fred  s  arnval  at  the  convent  she  reminded  me  of  nothing 
o  much  as  a  b  rd  in  a  cage.     I  am  sure  the  or.linary  I  t,e 
restramts  of  school-life   must  have  been   intolerable  to  one 
brought  up,  as  she  had  been,  unrestrained  upon  the  hilll  I 
the  austere  convent  parlor,   with   her  black  dress    and   h  r 
curls  festened  back  from  her  face  with  a  ribbon,  sh    1  , ^ 
a  sp,„t  of  her  former  self.    She  told  me.  in  her  quaint  speech 
at  she  only  lived  from  one  visit  of  mine  to  another.    uSy 
he  was  pale,  sad  and  listless.    The  spirit  of  mischief  seemed 

th  parlor  tdd  me  that  she  was  docile  to  her  teachers  and 
very  diligent  m  her  studies. 

WiJiJrei  '*"?T  *'''''  '^'*"'P^  ^  ^■■"  ^^  home  sooner," 
Wm.fred  explamed  to  me  as  we  sat  hand  in  hand  in  the 
conier  of  the  parlor.    "  My  heart  aches  to  see  Ireland  again 

C^a^rSlrrone  "  "'^  ^^  '^^  ^  -"  ^^ 

When  I  rose  to  go  that  day  I  told  her  that  I  was  eoin^ 
:!:  -~n.  if  possible,  for  her  to  come  down  an^d  f^ 

"  To  r  J.. 


day  with  you  in  the  big  city  down  there 


t4f> 


ARRIVAL  IN  NEW  YORK. 


she  cried.     "Oh,  it  will  be  lovely!     We  can  see  so  many 
things  and  we  can  talk  about  home." 

That  seemed  to  be  indeed  her  greatest  pleasure.  The  )ier- 
mission  was  granted,  with  even  better  terms  than  I  had  ex- 
pected ;  for  she  was  to  come  down  on  the  following  Tuesday 
morning  and  remain  with  me  till  the  day  after. 

"  It  is  a  privilege  we  do  not  often  grant,"  the  nun  said, 
smiling.  "  But  in  this  child's  case  we  think  it  is  really  es- 
sential. The  change  from  a  widely  different  life  was  so  very 
sudden." 

"  So  you  are  to  come  on  Tuesday,  and  this  is  Sunday," 
I  told  Winifred. 

Her  eyes  fairly  sparkled  with  delight,  as  she  danced  along 
by  my  side  with  something  of  her  old  gaiety.  "There  is 
only  one  day  between.  To-morrow  I  shall  study  very  hard, 
and  say  all  my  lessons  and  practise  for  my  singing  lesson  on 
Thursday,  and  do  everything  well." 

I  smiled. 

"  Father  Owen  would  say  you  should  do  that  every  day," 
I  reminded  her.  "You  remember  how  he  pointed  out  that 
the  robin  did  his  work  in  storm  or  sunshine." 

"  Oh,  but  'tis  much  easier  to  work  in  sunshine! "  Winifred 
cried  out. 

"  I  suppose  it  is,"  laughed  I ;  "  but  that  is  no  reason  why 
you  shouldn't  try  to  do  what  is  harder." 

"  I  do  try,"  Winifred  said  earnestly.  "  I  get  up  the  moment 
the  bell  rings  in  the  morning— though  I  don't  find  that  as 
hard  as  some  of  the  girls  do,  for  I  was  often  out  on  the 
hills  at  sunrise.  Then  I'm  one  of  the  first  in  the  chapel; 
and  in  class  I  study  my  lessons  and  I  hardly  ever  talk.  At 
recreation  I  don't  feel  much  like  playing  yet,  but  perhaps  I 
shall  after  a  while — when  I  know  some  of  the  gfirls  better." 


ARRIVAL  IN  NEW  YORK. 


M» 


How  do  you  like  your  com- 


"Yes,  I  am  sure  you  will, 
iwnions?"   I  asked. 

"  I  think  a  good  many  of  them  are  nice.    But  it  takes  me 

"And  your  teachers?"   I  inquired 

come  from  so  far  away  and  have  no  mother!     I  like  mv 
mus>c  teacher  best,  though.     I  wish  you  knew  her"  ' 

I  must  make  her  acquaintance  some  time,"  I  remarked  ■ 
I  want  to  know  all  your  friends."  remarked , 

"The  French  teacher  is  the  crosw<!t      Qi,..  •     -. 
though,  and  doesn't  wear  a  nun's  dress     She    "".^  '  """' 
I  don't  know  the  verbs  or  if  I  mL'^:Stak  s  V^^i^^^  ' 
old  her  the  other  day  that  I  didn't  want  a  strangert"  "peak 
r  I^sli-n?  "  '-^^^^'  ^"^  -  didn't^nderS 

myse/fle'little'  ",*^!,"^^."    ^^^  '  '-^hed,  picturing  to 
prinl  air  ^''  ''''''''"'  '""^  Frenchwoman  with'her 

We  were  standing  all  this  time  in  the  hall  ^h;.u 

pear  .o  nobce.    I  fancy  the  nuns  often  strained  the  rule  a  littL 
"^nv'tS^'r"  '':  t^™-^"""^  ^"*°  considerLor 

things  you  have  brougrme-  "         ^"'  '°"  '°'-  ^"  '"'  "^ 


143 


ARRIVAL  IN  NEW  YORK. 


the  dainty  confections  which  so  temptingly  fill  the  glass  cases 
and  adorn  the  plate-glass  windows.  I  was  told  that  she  al- 
ways distributed  my  gifts  amongst  her  companions  with  a 
royal  generosity,  often  keeping  but  little  for  herself.  While 
I  was  still  in  the  porch  I  heard  her  telling  a  companion: 

"  I  am  going  to  town  on  Tuesday.    Isn't  that  splendid  I  " 

"  Oh,  you  lucky  girl ! "  said  the  other.  "  I  wish  I  had 
come  from  Ireland  or  some  other  place:  then  I  might  get 
out  oftener." 

I  went  homeward,  musing  on  that  happy  time  of  life  when 
a  day  out  of  school,  a  promised  holiday,  gives  a  keener  de- 
light than  anything  in  after  life. 

"Why  does  youth  ever  pass  away,  with  its  glow  and 
glory?"  I  thought.  "And  how  dull  its  going  leaves  this 
prosaic  earth  I " 


AN  UNEXPECTED  AfEETfNG. 


U3 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

AN    UNEXPECTED   MEETING. 

It  was  a  curious  coincidence  that  nn  f»,„  o      . 

r  i;^— ^--i  ~^^^^ 

is  known  to  New  Ynrf  ''^"""^"'^  ^er  house  was  what 
that  is  to  ^ytZlZZl^'  .^"  ^"^'■^''  basement-house: 
while  the  dratig!r^rTrTu"eofT  '  ''"'  "'*  "^^  ^*^^^'' 
by  counting  the  fi^sT 'st^i  f  A  ZlZTr  '  ^^""^^^ 

rooms  had  mv  fri<.nH    , •  .  _,       ^  handsome  suite  of 

and  containinTinnumer.hr  "'"  '"^  """"^^  ^'^^--. 

Of  a„  sons.  ir:^:-z;  aiT-'-r"^  *^«- 

arranged  to  give  the  Lt  possibt "L "     '      '"^  ^^^^'•^- 

i  had  a  standing  invitation  for  the  S„nH= 
Pers.  which  were  an  institution  of  t  e  hoi   andT"^  "^ 
was  always  sure  of  meeting.  '    ^  ^''^'"^  °"« 

conversation  was  ullTv  o 7^  very  agreeable  people.  The 
-n.  As  the  iest  i;' r'^''^'"f  ■"*"-«"?  -der  the 
amongst  them.^  th  ve^f:i^°  :nT  *'*  '^^^'"■"^'  ^  -- 
of  Roderick  O'Byrne  ft  Zlv  «  '"^''  *"'  ''"'"'''  '^^''^ 
my  return  from  Snd   aldhT,'  "''''"^  "'*  "^  ^'■"- 

o-curiou3sensatr'T^c;r::s.-ri:: 


144  ^^  UNEXPECTED  MEETING. 

history,  the  most  hidden  pages  of  his  life,  that  it  seemed 
strange  to  meet  him  tliere  in  an  ordinary  drawing-room. 
When  I  thought  of  Niall,  of  the  old  castle  with  its  romance 
and  mystery,  it  was  hardly  credible  that  this  tall  and  slender 
gentleman  in  the  well-fitting  evening  clothes  should  be  the 
central  figure  in  such  a  drama.  And  all  the  time  I  was  with- 
holding from  him  such  a  secret  as  the  presence  in  America 
of  his  only  child. 

While  Roderick  stood  exchanging  a  few  words  with  his 
hostess,  I  thought  all  at  once  ofi  that  little  scene  which  Wini- 
fre.l  had  recalled— when  he  parted  in  anger  from  the  lady 
in  .iie  yellow  dress,  who  must  have  been,  of  course,  his  wife. 
As  soon  as  he  saw  me  he  came  forward  to  shake  hands,  and 
dropped  into  a  chair  at  my  side.  I  found  a  change  in  him : 
he  seemed  more  silent  and  preoccupied  than  I  had  ever  seen 
him.  However,  he  was  never  given  to  talking  commonplaces, 
and  I  waited  till  his  mood  should  change.  He  sat  near  me 
at  supper,  and  on  the  other  side  of  him  was  a  voung  and 
very  gushing  lady.  Roderick  seemed  amused  at  her  efforts 
to  interest  him. 

"  I  have  just  heard,"  she  exclaimed,  "  that  you  are  Irish, 
Mr.  O'Byme;  and  I  am  so  glad!  Our  hostess  has  told  me 
that  you  are  not  only  from  Ireland,  but  intensely  Irish.  Now, 
I  think  that  everything  that  is  intensely  Irish  is  intensely  nice." 
"  Thanks  so  much  I  "  replied  Roderick,  carelessly.  "  I  am 
glad  you  approve  of  my  nationality;  for  I  have  to  j)lead 
guilty  to  a  very  unfashionable  love  for  my  country." 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  plead  guilty  at  all !  "  cried  the  charmer. 
"  It  is  so  refreshing  nowadays.     And  you  Irish  are  so  de- 
lightfully enthusiastic  and  impressionable,  and  all  that." 
Roderick  raised  his  eyebrows  ever  so  slightly. 
"  By  the  yray,"  he  observed,  turning  abruptly  to  me,  "I 


^iV  UNEXPECTED  MEETING. 


mv"n      M''°"  "'"  "^'■^  ^'"^  '^'  ^^"*™-t  expressed  by 
my  „e.ghbor-yo„  who  are  so  lately  back  iror.  iZ^t  '" 

I  asked     .'1?^^  ""V'  '■""^"^'^'^  ^"^''  '^  '"^--ly  nice-?" 
asked.        I  am  prepared  to  endorse  that  senti„K-nt  •    for  T 

There   was   a   softened   look   on   the   man'*   f=..»       ^ 
moisture  in  his  eves  ■    for  »,»  ^     V  ^"^^  ""'^   ^ 

he  said  in  a  wTone:  ""  '""''  '"'"*^'-    P^^-"*'^ 

"  Do  you  know  I  am  very  homesick  of  lat..'    t 
for  a  sight  of  the  beautifufhills  of  the  Gil    'sn    ""  7'^^ 
glorious  Dargle     Oh   wh=.f         Mr  '^""  ^"''  *''« 

.ook  at  the  I^aile^'^J^irr  bltr-^'^^  ^°^  °"^  ^^^ 
"Why  don't  you  take  a  trip  to  Ireland?"  I  asked. 

Oh    for  many  reasons!"   he  said  hurriedly 
He  d.d  not  go  into  detail  and  I  could  not  ask. 

But  you  wdl  go  back  some  day?"   I  urged. 

Go  back?"  he  reoeatpd      "t        j  ^      ,. 

I  i::z  iiust  ihrr  ^"'^  ---  *°  -^  >-•  - 

Our  hostess" liked  Tstr  1^7'  I  T^""'  ''''''^' 
especially  from  the  br!nfa„t  £  ,170^^:  Tf"'  ''"' 
had  all  returned  fn  m^  ^       "-oaericic   u  Byrne.     After  wc 

friendly,  but  I  knew  th.t  T  ^'^  ^'^^^^  f'een 

for  him  i„s  hen  as  a  inTr*'*'  ':'  '^  ^'"'='^'  ='«-*- 
very  sj,  in  ^   rever^Td  t^^"  k"  '"'  '"'^"''-     ^^^ 

-Mn.uiri„gas;ot;:rtr;,;:-;;r:inr^ 


146 


AN  UNEXPECTED  MEETING. 


though  I  observed  that  he  never  once  mentioned  any  person 
or  persons  in  the  neighborhood.  It  was  evident  for  some 
reason  that  he  did  not  wish  to  bring  Niall  into  the  discourse, 
and  I  was  just  as  anxious  at  the  time  to  avoid  that  part  of 
the  subject. 

Suddenly  Roderick  said: 

"  I  was  struck  very  much  the  other  day  by  a  face  which 
I  saw  just  for  a  moment." 

My  heart  stood  still.  I  knew  what  was  coming,  and  I 
almost  dreaded  it.  But,  happily,, he  did  not  associate  the  in- 
cident with  me. 

"  It  was  that  of  a  child,"  he  said,  somewhat  gravely.  "  It 
was  a  beautiful  face,  I  suppose;  but  it  was  not  that  which 
specially  attracted  my  attention.  I  only  caught  a  glimpse — 
the  merest  glimpse — of  it,  but  it  brought  back  the  past  to  me 
as  in  a  flash." 

"Strange!"  I  commented  meciianically ;  for  I  scarce 
knew  what  to  ssy. 

"Yes,  it  was  very  strange,"  went  on  Roderick.  "  I  was 
standing  at  the  comer  of  Twenty-third  Street,  waiting  to 
cross,  and  it  must  be  owned  that  I  was  thinking  of  anything 
else  than  Ireland  and  my  past  life  there.  You  know  what 
a  crowd  there  is  at  that  particular  place.  Suddenly  a  carriage 
stood  still  an  instant,  delayed  by  the  traffic;  and  out  of  it 
looked  that  exquisite  child-face,  full  of  wonder,  of  curiosity, 
and,  I  thought,  of  sadness." 

I  concealed  my  emotion  by  an  effort;  and  had  he  not 
been  so  occupied  with  his  subject  be  might  have  perceived  at 
once  that  the  story  had  an  unusual  interest  for  me. 

"Would  you  believe,"  he  said,  "that  New  York  faded 
from  before  me,  and  instead  I  saw  the  Dargle,  the  glen  and 
the  river,  with  all  their  lovely  surroundings — yes,  I  saw  them 


^ff  UNEXPECTED  MEETING.  ,„ 

as  distinctly  as  I  see  you  now?    The  Dargle  and^ther  places 
about  there,    he  concluded,  after  a  brief  pause. 
I  wondered  if  he  were  thinking  of  the  castle. 
"By  the  way,"  he  a..ked  of  a  sudden,  "  were  you  in  that 
part  of  Ireland  at  all— I  mean  Wicklow?" 

"Oh,  yes!"    I  said,  trying  to  speak  indifferently      "I 
saw  most  of  the  show  places  there." 

"Did  you  meet  any  people  thereabouts?"  he  innuire-I 
speaKmg  very  slowly  and  playing  with  a  paper-knife  which 
he  had  taken  up  from  a  neighboring  davenport. 

It  was  my  turn  to  htsitate  a  moment  before  I  replied- 
called  """^^  **"  '"'"'''  ^"''*'  ^"^^^  °'^'"'  '"'  •"=  i*' popularly 
"Father  Owen  Farley!"  exclaimed  Roderick,  apparently 

ZZ\"T^^."  '"''^'"  ''""'  °^  enthusiayn;   "the  dearest, 
the  best,  the  kindest  of  men! " 

"You  know  him,  then?"  I  asked. 

The  glow  faded  from  his  face  almost  at  once 

"I  was  brought  up  in  that  part  of  the  country,"  he  said 
ma  reserved  way.  as  if  anxious  to  drop  the  subject;  "so 
that  of  course  I  knew  him  when  I  was  a  boy  " 

"Well,  he  certainly  is  all  you  say  of  him,"  I  declared 
cordially;   "he  charmed  me  from  the  very  first" 

rJ'^?   ''!,  ^T  ^   unusually  attractive   way   with   him," 
Roderick  sa.d-"or  used  to  have  long  ago." 

And  then  he  dismissed  the  subject  and  began  to  talk  of 

verted  to  that  one  topic  which  seemed  to  be  occupying  his 
thoughts.     Waking  out  of  a  reverie,  he  suddenly  exclaled; 

out  on  *"■'/  '"'"'^'""■^  P^'"*^''  '""^  I  "hould  try  to 

put  on  .vory,  just  from  memory,  that  exquisite  child-face" 
Perhaps  you  will  see  her  again,"  I  ventured 


148 


AN  UNEXPECTED  MEETING. 


"  I  never  expect  to,"  he  said  decisively.  "  New  York  is 
not  Ireland.  People  are  swallowed  up  here  as  in  a  quick- 
sand." 

"  Life  has  many  surprises,"  I  observed  tentatively. 
He  looked  at  mc  keenly  for  an  instant ;  then  he  resumed 
his  indifferent  air  and  continued  to  play  with  the  paper-knife. 
"You   will  think   me  altogether  a  dreamer,"   remarked 
Roderick,  "  to  be  so  impressed  by  a  passing  face." 
I  do  not  know  what  impelled  me  to  say  then : 
"  Perhaps  there  was  some  special  reason.     Possibly  she 
may  have  reminded  you  of  some  one  whom  you  once  knew." 
He  started;  the  paper-knife  fell  from  his  hands,  and  he 
was  long  in  picking  it  up.    But  the  flash  of  his  dark  eyes  in 
that  brief  moment  recalled  Niall.    The  incident  was  not  with- 
out its  value.     I  saw  my  way  clear  before  me.     I  should 
gradually  try  to  revive  his  interest  in  the  past:   to  forge  a 
chain  which  should  lead  him  inevitably  back  to  the  castle  of 
his  ancestors,  to  Winifred  and  to  his  eccentric  but  devoted 
kinsman.    And  at  the  same  time  I  might  chance  to  discover 
his  motive  for  so  long  neglecting  his  only  child. 

When  Roderick  raised  his  head  again,  and  replaced  the 
paper-knife,  with  a  hand  which  trembled  somewhat,  upon 
the  davenport,  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  studied  carelessness : 

"  Don't  let  us  talk  of  this  any  more.  It  does  seem  very 
absurd.  I  am  half  ashamed  of  having  told  you  anything 
about  it.    And  there  is  the  professor  going  to  the  piano." 

During  the  music  Roderick  lay  back  in  his  chair,  and  as 
he  listened  to  the  dreamy,  soothing  sound  of  the  "  Songs 
without  Words,"  I  knew  that  his  mind  was  running  on  the 
sweet  child-face  which  hid  so  impressed  him,  and  on  the 
train  of  associations  which  that  chance  meeting  had  con- 
jured up.    I  had  no  further  conversation  with  him  on  that 


AN  UNEXPECTED  MEETING. 


oc^s,on.  and  very  soon  after   I  took  my  leave  and   went 
home  to  ponder  over  the  situation,  which  I  found  n,ost  inter- 
tell!d    J. *'*"'?  .^^  -f  I   *«^«  holding  the  thread   of  a 
tangled  ske,n,  wh.ch  must  sooner  or  later  straighten  itself 
out.     I  lay  awake  half  the  nigh,  picturing  to  m    elf  rI 
denck's  dehght  when  he  should  discover  thaf  the  swee  tchUd 
fece  was  that  of  his  own  Winifred;    and  his  sorrow      Id 
perhaps  remorse,  for  the  past,  when  he  had  neglected  "^r    I 
wondered  where  and  when  the  disclosure  should  Tke  Ice 
and  how  it  would  be  brought  about.     I  also   retolveS    o 
■nterest  Winifred  in  her  father.    I  could  see  that'htd  ,ng 
much  more  to  .he  memory  of  her  mother,  and  seemed  to 
remember  Roderick  only  as  the  dark  genrteman   who  bad 
got  angry  w>th  the  beautiful  lady  and  slammed  the  dJr 
I  rose  early  next  morning,  for  I  wanted  to  go  down  town 

fTeT"ir  w"  "  ^''""'^  ^''^'  *°  ""^^  -1,    z 
a  P*L'  T         ""'  ""'=''  '  ^''""^  ''^  ^-  Winifred  a 
fact  t^Tl  T'*'""*  ^°'  ''^■"  ^°'"'"^'-   ^°r.  besides  the 

fact  that  I  was  really  attached  to  the  child  and  took  a  sincere 
pleasure  m  her  society.  I  felt  a  new  interest  in  her  sin" 
late  conversation  with  her  father  ^ 

I  looked  out  the  window.    There  was  a  drizzling  fog     The 
shops  opposite  looked  dreary  and  uninviting,  and  the  people 
who    were    hastening   down    Broadway    had    all    the  T 
m-rable  appearance,  looking  spectra,  fn  the  fog     My  hT.^ 
sank.    If  ,t  were  the  same  kind  of  weather  on  A-T 

the  first  place,  she  would  not  be  allowed  to  come-  and  in  th. 
Sr^r"""^  "^.-^  ««'^  P'--  rbri^g^ng 

I  dressed  and  went  out.     The  streeU  were  glazed  over 


ISO 


AN  UNEXPECTED  MEETING. 


with  a  thin  coat  of  frost,  which  made  the  walking  treacherous 
and  unsafe.  The  snowfall  of  two  or  three  days  before  had 
entirely  disappeared.  I  picked  my  way  along,  making  one 
more  in  the  processioN  of  spectres,  till  I  reached  the  nearest 
elevated  station,  which  was  in  the  square  at  Thirty-third 
Street,  near  the  Herald  building.  I  was  soon  flying  through 
the  air,  and  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  was  almost  in  the 
heart  of  the  business  portion  of  the  great  "  down-town." 
Warehouses  arose  on  all  sides:  from  some  came  a  frag^nt 
odor  telling  of  coffee  and  spices ;  from  others  flashed  visions 
of  delicate  china,  rich  bronzes,  and  beautiful  glassware.  And 
finally  I  was  set  down  within  a  block  or  so  of  my  destination. 

I  picked  my  way  carefully  along  the  narrow  lane-like 
street,  and  emerged  just  opposite  old  St.  Peter's,  the  mother- 
church  of  New  York.  Its  somber  walls  looked  gray  and  dis- 
mal in  that  dreary  fog ;  but  within  it  was  warm  and  cheerful, 
and  imposing  in  a  massive,  old-fashioned  way.  I  prayed 
earnestly  for  the  success  of  all  our  scheming — that  is,  Niall's 
and  mine;  and,  above  all,  for  the  happy  reunion  of  father 
and  daughter. 

After  that  I  went  out  ag^in  to  purchase  my  statue.  I  was 
now  in  the  region  -"f  the  Catholic  publishers,  which  is  full 
of  many  memories  ui  other  days  and  the  various  phases  of 
Catholic  life  in  New  York.  There  much  has  been  done  for 
the  Catholic  cause;  much  has  been  discussed,  much  has  been 
attempted,  and  many  attempts  have  failed.  It  is  historic 
ground.  I  bought  my  statue  and  hurried  home,  glad  to  be 
housed  on  that  chilly  and  disagreeable  day.  I  had  a  few 
other  preparations  to  make,  on  the  chance  that  the  weather 
would  clear  up;  but  I  resolved  to  leave  them  till  the  morn- 
ing, when  they  might  be  easily  accomplished  by  the  aid  of  the 
telephone. 


msiFRBD  GOES  SIGHT-SEEING 


«S« 


CHAPTER   XrX. 


WINIFRED   GOES   SIGHT-SEEING. 

The   next   morning    I    woke   earlier   than   usual;    and 
getting  up  at  once,  looked  out  of  the  window.     Every  trace' 
of  the  fog  had  vanished,  and  there  was  the  sun  leaping  and 
dancing  as  merrily  as  if  it  were  midsummer  instead  of  De- 
cember.   I  hurried  off  to  Mass,  and  got  back  again,  to  take 
a  hasty  breakfast  and  sit  down  in  my  room  to  wait  for  Wini- 
fred.    It  was  about  ten  o'clock  when,  with  my  eyes  glued  to 
the  wmdow    I  saw  her  little  face  looking  out  of  the  carriage 
which  I  had  sent  for  her.    I  ran  down  to  the  ladies'  entrance 
to  bnng  her  in.    She  looked  brighter  and  better  than  I  had 
seen  he    since  she  left  Ireland.     She  wore  her  black  school 
costume,  but  her  hair  was  no  longer  brushed  painfully  down 
to  comparative  smoothness:   it  broke  out  into  the  same  saucy 
curls  I  knew  of  old.     She  darted  out  of  the  carriage  and  in 
at  the  open  door,  throwing  herself  into  my  arms 

again  r""'   ^   """'"   '*"  '"''*"     "^''^   '°  ^'"''   *°   '''  y°" 

"I  began  to  be  afraid  yesterday,"  I  observed,  "that  we 
were  both  going  to  be  disappointed." 

"Oh,  so  was  I ! "  said  Winifred.  "  I  went  to  the  window 
he  first  thing,  to  be  sure  that  the  sun  was  shining  and  the 
fog  gone  away."  ^ 

e  couldn't 


the  time  you  got  up.' 


been  much  sun  at 


tij 


iSa 


WINIFRED  GOES  SIGHT-SEEING. 


"  Oh,  it  was  there !  And  I  saw  there  wasn't  any  fog  and 
that  it  was  going  to  be  a  fine  day." 

I  brought  her  up  to  my  room  and  installed  her  in  a  chair 
to  rest  while  I  got  on  my  things, 

"  For  of  course  we  must  go  out  as  soon  as  we  can,"  I 
declared.  "  It  will  never  do  to  miss  a  moment  of  such  a 
perfect  day,  and  it  will  be  all  too  short." 

A  shade  seemed  to  pass  over  Winifred's  sensitive  face  at 
the  words.  But  I  called  her  att«;ntion  to  the  street  below; 
for  Broadway  on  a  sunshiny  morning  is  a  very  pleasant  and 
cheerful  sight,  and  to  Winifred  it  was  all  new;  so  that  it 
was  certain  the  constant  panorama  of  human  beings,  all  jost- 
ling one  another,  eager,  excited,  apparently  in  a  fearful  hurry, 
would  keep  her  fully  occupied  while  I  completed  my  toilet. 
Once  the  child  called  me  to  the  wiadow  to  see  a  Chinaman. 
She  had  never  seen  one  before,  and  she  went  oflf  into  a  peal 
of  laughter  at  the  odd  sight.  This  particular  John  was 
dressed  in  a  pale  blue  silk  shirt  over  his  baggy  black  trousers. 
His  pigtail  was  long  and  luxuriant,  denoting  rank. 

"  What  is  he  ?  "  cried  Winifred.  "  You  have  such  funny 
people  in  America.  I  don't  think  there  are  any  like  him  in 
all  Ireland." 

"  Not  in  Wicklow,  at  any  rate,"  I  answered.  "  Indeed,  I 
don't  know  what  they  would  think  of  him  there.  He  looks 
as  if  he  had  just  stepped  oflf  a  tea-caddy,  straight  from  China." 

"  Oh,  he  is  a  Chinese,  then  I  I  never  saw  one  before  ex- 
cept in  pictures." 

The  next  thing  that  attracted  her  attention  was  one  of 
the  great  vans,  drawn  by  enormous  dray-horses. 

"Look  at  their  big  legs  and  feet!"  laughed  Winifred  — 
"as  big  as  a  tree  almost!  Oh,  I  wish  Barney  and  Moira 
could  see  them !  " 


WINIFRFD  GOES  SIGHTSEEING. 


'5.1 
who^Hr"'""'  ^T"""'  '""•  "'"""'"''  hcr-<,pecially  of  tho« 

co«J;;i;:r  ^^"'^"''  ^^^  •"' "-'  --  -  -•^ 

At  last  I  wa.  rea.ly.  and  we  passed  down  the  stairway 
Just  across  the  way  was  a  florisfs,  and  I  told  Winifred  we 
mo°:  ntT  °"'  ""*  "''  *''^^^-    ^'  "''^  '°  -''  »  ^-ab* 

den  etrC/"*\'"'  ""^"'^  "rriages-which  forn,ed  a 
dense  mass  between  the  two  sidewalks. 

"wli^n."""'"^   '^^  '*"**   "P   ''"'   '"   ""thing."   I   said 

«  t"  ^*r't'  .      '"'**"**•  °'  "■="  *>"=  City  Hall  Park." 
Ihis  ,s  bad  enough!"   cried  Winifred.     "You  feel  as 
If  some  of  the  horses  must  step  on  you  " 

However  we  got  safely  across,  with  the  aid  of  a  tall 
pohceman  who  piloted  us  through  the  crowd,  putting  up^n 
a.Uhontat.ve  hand  to  stop  a  hor«.  here,  or  sig^in'g^  f  drive; 
^ere  to  g,ve  place.  We  entered  the  florist^, hop.  It  wa 
.ke  gomg  from  winter  to  a  lovely  spring  day.  The  f ra^ance 
from  the  many  flowers  was  exquisite  but  almost  overpoTZ 
Masses  of  roses  of  carnations,  of  chrysanthemums  1^7Z. 
m  the  rarest  profusion;  flowering  plants,  palms,  costly  exofc^s 

skS     The       hH  ^  ""'  '™P'"'  ^"-^^  -'^-  SoXn 
sk,es.    The  s.ght  of  the  violets  brought  the  tears  to  Winifred  " 
eyes:    they  remmded  her  of  her  home  beyond  the  sea      B„ 
when  she  heard  the  price  of  them  she  wasLaJd  ' 

Why,  we  get  them  for  nothine  in  the  no™i 
as  we  want-doming  on  the  spring  •'    he  wh^I"^"  Tl 
&>ve  so  much  money  for  them  "  '^''''^'^-       Don  t 

She  persisted  so  much  in  the  idea  that  it  would  be  fearful 


.','1 
III 


154 


WINIFRED  GOES  SIGHTSEEING. 


to  waste  money  on  flowers  which  might  be  had  at  home  for 
nothing,  that  I  bought  her  roses  instead.  I  made  her  select 
a  bunch  for  herself  from  the  mass.  She  was  charmed  with 
their  variety  of  color,  varying  from  the  pale  yellow  of  the 
tea-rose  to  the  deepest  crimson.  We  recrossed  the  street,  and 
I  made  her  go  back  to  the  hotel  with  the  roses,  so  that  they 
might  keep  fresh  in  water.  When  she  came  down  again  to 
where  I  was  waiting  on  the  sidewalk,  I  said: 

"Now  there  is  going  to  be  a, circus  procession  on  Fifth 
Avenue.  It  is  just  about  time  for  it;  so  we  will  go  round 
the  comer  and  see  it." 

"  What  is  a  circus  procession  ?  "  she  inquired  gravely. 
"  You  shall  see  for  yourself  in  a  few  minutes,"  I  answered 
briefly. 

We  went  across  Twenty-ninth  Street  to  Fifth  Avenue,  and 
stationed  ourselves  on  a  high  brownstone  stoop,  which, 
fortunately  for  us,  was  not  yet  crowded.  All  along  the 
streets  people  were  waiting  in  serried  rows.  Small  boys  were 
mounted  on  trees,  calling  out  jeering  exclamations  to  those 
below ;  fruit  venders  and  venders  of  peanuts  elbowed  their 
way  about,  or  stood  on  comers  with  furnaces  aglow  for  the 
roasting  of  chestnuts.  It  was  a  busy,  animated  scene ;  while 
the  cheerful  laughter  and  the  shrill,  gleeful  voices  of  the 
children  added  to  the  general  mirth. 

Presently  the  arrival  of  the  procession  was  announced  by 
the  small  boys  and  the  blowing  of  a  bugle  by  a  man  on 
horseback.  The  first  to  appear  was  a  train  of  magnificent 
horses,  some  with  Arab  riders,  some  controlled  by  wonder- 
fully dexterous  women.  Next  in  order  was  a  beautiful  lady, 
clad  in  a  gorgeous,  bespangled  costume,  seated  in  a  gilt 
chariot  and  driving  with  the  utmost  skill  six  snow-white 
horses. 


WINIFRED  GOES  SIGHT-SEEING.  155 

"A  gold  carriage!"  whispered  Winifred,  awestricken. 
"  Oh,  if  Barney  and  Moira  could  only  see  that !  " 

"All  is  not  gold  that  glitters,"  I  replied  promptly.  "  But 
the  white  horses  are  certainly  beautiful." 

"  Oh,  what  are  these  ?  "   she  asked. 

I  looked.  It  was  the  camels  that  had  attracted  the  child's 
attention.  Their  appearance  so  astonished  and  amused  her 
that  she  went  off  into  peals  of  merry  laughter,  which  caused 
many  a  responsive  smile  around  us. 

"What  funny  things  you  have  in  America!"  she  ex- 
claimed. "Just  see  how  these  things  walk  and  the  queer 
men  on  their  backs." 

"The  animals  are  called  camels,"  I  said;  "and  their 
drivers  are  supposed  to  be  Arabs  from  the  desert." 

"  Oh,  I  have  studied  about  the  camels  and  the  deserts !  " 
Winifred  said,  and  she  looked  at  them  with  new  interest. 

Her  astonishment  reached  its  climax  when  she  saw  the 
elephants. 

"What  are  they  at  all?"  she  cried,  gazing  at  their  enorm- 
ous bulk  with  startled  eyes,  as  they  slowly  plodded  on.  Her 
glance  wandered  from  their  trunks  to  their  great  legs  and 
huge  sides.  I  told  her  what  they  were,  and  I  think  her 
studies  had  supplied  her  with  some  information  about  them 
and  the  ivory  which  is  obtained  from  their  tusks. 

She  was  charmed  with  the  monkeys. 

"I'm  sure  they're  little  old  men,"  she  said— "just  like 
those  Niall  used  to  tell  about,  who  were  shut  up  in  the  hills." 

She  was  never  tired  of  watching  their  antics,  and  onlv 
regretted  when  they  were  out  of  sight.  Two  or  three  of 
them  were  mounted  on  tiny  ponies;  and,  to  Winifred's  great 
glee,  one  tumbled  ignotmniousiy  off  and  had  to  be  picked  up 
out  of  the  mud  by  an  attendant. 


IS6 


WINIFRED  GOES  SIGHTSEEING. 


"What's  coming  now?"  she  cried,  as  one  of  the  vans 
containing  a  lion  hove  into  sight.  The  great  beast  lay  tranquil 
and  unmoved,  gazing  at  the  passers-by  with  that  air  of 
nobility  which  always  belongs  to  his  species.  His  appearance 
seemed  to  fascinate  my  companion  and  she  gazed  at  him  very 
earnestly. 

"  That  is  a  lion,"   I  remarked. 

"Oh,  the  king  of  the  forest!"  put  in  Winifred.  "He 
looks  like  a  king." 

"  A  very  fierce  one  at  times,"  I  replied.  "  But  that  next 
is  a  tiger — a  far  more  cruel  and  treacherous  beast." 

"  I  don't  like  him,"  said  Winifred,  decisively ;  "  although 
he  is  something  like  a  big,  big  cat,  only  for  the  stripes  on  his 
back." 

The  leopards  next  passed  by,  fidgeting  up  and  down  the 
cage,  with  their  spotted  coats  glittering  in  the  sun.  Hyenas, 
wolves,  foxes,  jackals,  passed  in  quick  succession,  giving  place 
at  last  to  a  giraffe.    I  pointed  this  animal  out  to  Winifred. 

"  He  has  a  long,  long  neck,"  she  observed ;  "  he  looks  as 
if  he  had  stretched  it  out  so  far  that,  he  couldn't  get  it  back 
ag^n." 

The  doings  of  the  clown,  I  think,  puzzled  more  than  thejf 
amused  Winifred. 

"  Is  he  a  man  or  another  kind  of  animal  ?  "  she  asked  me 
gravely.  She  was  not  at  all  sure  what  kind  of  being  he 
was,  or  why 'he  should  be  so  dressed  up  and  act  in  such  a 
manner.    I  told  her  that  it  was  to  amuse  people. 

"  But  he  isn't  half  so  funny  as  the  monkeys,"  she  declared, 
contemptuously.  "  Why,  you  never  told  me  that  there  were 
such  wonderful  things  in  America ! " 

"I'm  sure  I  never  thought  ©f  k,"  I  replied,  latighing. 
"  But  I  am  glad  you  have  seen  the  circus.     It  is  quite  an 


WINIFRED  GOES  SIGHTSEEING.  ,57 

edtication  in  nahtral  history.  Now  you  will  know  an  elephant 
from  a  giraflFe.  a  lion  from  a  tiger,  a  camel  from  a  zebra,  and 
a  monkey  from  a  fox.  But,  dear,  we  must  hurry  on  and  see 
what  sight-seeing  we  can  do.  I  declare  it  is  almost  noon 
already." 

Presently,  indeed,  we  heard  the  shrill  sound  of  many 
whistles  and  the  ringing  of  more  than  one  bell. 

Winifred  put  her  hands  to  her  ears. 

"What  a  noise!"  she  cried;  and  she  laughed  merrily  as 
she  did  so,  her  feet  fairiy  dancing  over  the  pavement  in  the 
pleasant  sunlight  of  that  winter  day.  And  so  we  pursued  our 
way  up  Fifth  Avenue,  with  its  rows  of  imposing  brownstone 
houses,  toward  the  cathedral,  which  was  our  destination 


■58 


ANOTHER  UNEXPECTED  MEETING. 


CHAPTER   XX. 


ANOTHER   UNEXPECTED   MEETING. 


Coming  to  the  cathedral,  where  it  stands  on  the  corner 
of  Fiftieth  Street  and  Fifth  Avenue,  we  stopped  to  observe 
its  proportions,  at  once  noble  and,  graceful,  its  white  marble 
facade  and  tall  spires  being  one  of  the  ornaments  of  the 
Empire  City.  Entering  the  edifice,  we  knelt  a  while  in  prayer 
before  we  began  to  examine  all  its  beauties  in  detail.  The 
rich  glow  of  the  beautiful  stained  windows  was  a  revelation 
to  the  child,  and  the  stories  which  they  tell  of  saints  and 
martyrs  appealed  lo  her  strongly.  She  watched  their  varied 
tints  failing  upon  the  marble  altars  with  a  visible  delight. 

"  1  must  write  a  letter  about  this  to  Father  Owen,"  she 
said  as  we  came  out  again  upon  the  dignified  bustle  of  Fifth 
Avenue,  so  unlike  the  activity  of  Broadway,  but  still  notice- 
able after  the  quiet  of  the  great  temple.  "  It  is  all  so  grand 
in  there !  "  she  said — "grand  as  our  own  mountains  and  beau- 
tiful as  the  Dargle.  It  reminded  me  of  heaven.  Perhaps 
heaven  is  something  like  that." 

I  smiled  and  did  not  contradict  her;  for  the  calm  and 
repose  of  a  great  cathedral  is  very  far  removed  indeed  from 
earth. 

"  Of  course  there  are  several  other  churches  I  want  you 
to  see,"  I  observed ;  "  but  perhaps  that  one  will  do  aow.  As 
we  had  breakfast  late,  and  are  not  in  a  particular  Imrry  for 
our  luncheon,  I  think  we  will  take  a  trip  in  an  elevated  car 
first." 


ANOTHER  UNEXPECTED  MEETING.  159 

Winifred,  of  course,  consented  eagerly;  and,  havinR  pro- 
cured the  child  a  cup  of  hot  bouillon  at  a  druRpist's  as  a 
preventive  against  hunger,  we  climbed  up  the  great  iron  stairs 
of  the  elevated  station  at  Fourteenth  Street  and  Sixth  Avenue, 
and  were  soon  seated  in  the  car. 

It  seemed  very  wonderful  to  Winifred  that  we  should  be 
flying  through  the  air  at  such  a  rate  of  speed ;  but  she  was 
delighted  with  the  swift  motion  and  had  no  thought  of  fear. 
She  keept  looking  in  with  eager  curiosity  at  the  houses 
or  the  shops  as  we  passed  by  their  second-  or  third-story 
windows,  and  down  at  the  pigmy-like  people  on  the  sidewalk, 
making  continual  exclamations  of  wonder  or  interest. 

We  got  out  at  the  Battery;  and  before  taking  the  East 
Side  car  up  town  I  let  Winifred  take  a  run  in  Battery  Park, 
so  that  she  might  have  a  glimpse  of  the  bay  and  the  huge 
ferry-boats  landing  their  loads  of  passengers,  and  the  funnels 
of  tiie  steamers  or  the  masts  of  tall  vessels  in  the  offing. 

"Across  all  that  water,"  she  cried,  stretching  out  her  arms 
with  a  pretty  and  graceful  gesture,  "  is  my  horn-  -my  dear 
hills,  the  Dargle,  and  the  people  that  I  love  I " 

She  sniflFed  tlie  salt  air  as.  though  it  were  wine;  and 
ran  about  in  the  alleys,  gazing  longingly  at  the  green  grass, 
while  I  sat  upon  a  bench  and  waited.  At  last  I  reminded  her 
that  time  was  flying,  and  that  she  would  be  a  very  hungry 
little  girl  by  the  time  we  made  our  trip  up  the  East  Side  of 
the  city  and  got  down  again  to  luncheon. 

We  were  soon  seated  in  a  Third  Avenue  elevated  car 
and  passed  up  Chatham  Square  and  the  Bowery— that  great 
thoroughfare,  where  such  curious  people  congregate;  where 
'he  very  shops  have  a  diflFerent  air,  and  the  oyster-saloons  and 
other  places  of  refreshment  seem  to  revel  in  stran-e  sign- 
boards and   queerly-worded  advertisements.     The  Jews  are 


ite 


ANOTHER  UNEXPECTED  MEETING. 


there  in  large  numbers,  as  also  Syrians,  Chinese,  and  other 
Orientals,  so  that  it  has  a  strange  and  foreign  air. 

It  all  amused  and  interested  Winifred,  and  she  called  my 
attention  every  now  and  ag^in  to  some  grotesque  figrure  on 
the  sign-boards  or  to  some  poster  on  the  wall.  I  pointed  out 
to  the  child  Stuyvesant  Park  and  Union  Square  Park  as 
a  rest  to  the  eyes  tired  with  so  much  sight-seeing.  Then  we 
jogged  up  the  uninteresting  and  uninviting  Third  Avenue  till 
finally  we  were  in  the  vicinity  of  Harlem  Bridge  and  away  up 
in  the  open  country,  past  Harlert'  and  Mott  Haven,  and  well 
up  toward  High  Bridge  itself. 

At  last  I  called  a  halt,  and  we  alighted  and  began  the 
descent  again.  I  resolved  to  take  the  little  girl  to  luncheon 
at  the  Waldorf  as  a  special  treat,  so  that  she  might  see  modem 
luxury,  so  far  as  hotels  are  concerned,  at  its  height.  We  sat 
in  the  Empire  dining-room,  with  the  imperial  eagle  of  the 
great  Napoleon  on  our  chair-backs  and  a  large  bunch  of 
fragrant  pink  roses  on  the  table  before  us.  Our  soup  was 
brought  in  small  silver  bowls,  which  reminded  Winifred  of 
Niall's  treasures.  She  much  enjoyed  the  very  choice  and 
daintily  served  luncheon  which  I  ordered  for  her,  particularly 
the  sweet  course  and  the  dessert.  An  orchestra  was  playing 
all  the  time  of  luncheon,  changing  briskly  from  g^ave  to  gay ; 
and  its  strains  helped  to  make  the  whole  scene  dreamlike  and 
unreal  to  the  child  of  Nature,  accustomed  only  to  the  glory 
of  the  hills. 

Other  wonders  awaited  her:  the  cafi,  with  its  ever-blos- 
soming trees,  and  tfie  goldfish  swimming  in  its  ponds;  the 
onyx  stairway,  and  the  Louis  Quinze  salon,  with  its  inlaid 
cabinets,  its  brocaded  furniture,  and  above  all  its  gilt  pikno. 
This  last  object  seemed  to  cap  the  climax  of  splendor  in  Wini- 
fred's eyes.    I  think,  indeed,  that  very  modem  hotel  seemed 


ANOTHER  UNEXPECTED  MEETIXG.  i6i 

to  her  a  page  from  the  Arabian  Nights— some  AlaHdins  palace 
which  the  genii  had  built  up.  She  was  very  pleased,  too, 
with  the  private  dining-room  upstairs,  where  the  turning  on 
of  the  electric  light  showed  such  a  display  of  china  of  all 
sorts. 

When  we  were  tired  of  exploring,  and  had,  in  fact,  seen 
all  that  was  really  worth  the  trouble  or  tt-at  was  open  to  the 
public,  I  sat  down  at  a  table  in  the  Turkish  parlor  to  write 
a  note,  bidding  Winifred  rest  a  while.  She  coiled  herself  up 
in  one  of  the  great  armchairs,  keeping  so  still  that  I  almost 
thought  she  had  gone  to  sleep. 

The  rugs  in  that  room  are  very  soft  and  the  draperies 
ample,  and  sound  is  very  much  deadened,  so  that  I  did  not 
perceive  any  one  coming  in.  Looking  up  suddenly  from  my 
writing,  I  was  surprised  to  see  Roderick  O'Byrne.  I  grew 
pale  and  red  by  turns;  my  heart  sank  within  me  and  I  could 
not  meet  his  glance.  I  thought  of  Niall,  his  anger,  his  threats, 
my  own  promises.  Yet  what  was  I  to  do  in  such  a  situation? 
Unconscious,  of  course,  of  the  tumult  he  had  raised  in  my 
mind,  Roderick  came  directly  toward  me,  making  a  few  in- 
different remarks  on  the  weather,  the  last  political  event,  the 
hotel.    Finally  he  asked,  abruptly: 

"By  the  way,  do  I  remember  aright,  that  you  said  you 
were  in  Wicklow  during  your  recent  trip  to  Ireland  ?  " 

"Yes— no!"  I  cried,  confused.  "Oh,  yes,  of  course  I 
was  there  I " 

He  looked  at  me  in  some  surprise;  then  he  asked  again: 

"  Of  course  you  saw  the  Sugar  Loaf  Mountains,  as  the 
Sassenach  call  them,  but  which  we  Celts  loved  to  name  the 
Gilt  Spurs?" 

"Of  course,"  I  assented,  more  uneasily  than  ever;  for  I 
heard  a  movement  in  the  chair. 


tta 


ANOTHER  UNEXPECTED  MEETING. 


"The  Dargle  goes  without  saying,"  he  continued. 

Another  rustle  in  the  chair. 

"  But  I  am  not  going  to  put  you  through  a  catechism  on 
Irish  k>cal  scenery,"  Roderick  said,  with  a  laugh ;  "  I  am 
almost  sure  you  told  me  that  you  knew  Father  Owen  Farley." 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  dear  Father  Owen !  "  cried  Winifred  from 
the  depth  of  her  chair.  The  mention  of  that  beloved  name 
had  aroused  her  from  the  spell  of  shyness,  or  some  other 
cause,  which  had  hitherto  kept  her  silent. 

Roderick  turned  quickly,  and,  at  the  same  moment  Wini- 
fred stood  up  and  faced  him.  There  they  were  together, 
father  and  daughter,  as  any  one  could  see  at  a  glance. 

"  Do  you  know  Father  Owen,  sir  ?  "  the  child  asked ;  and 
at  her  voice  Roderick  started.  He  did  not  answer  her  question, 
but,  gazing  at  her  intently,  asked  instead : 

"Who  are  you,  child?" 

Something  in  the  question  abashed  or  oflFended  Winifred ; 
for  she  drew  her  little  figure  to  its  highest  and  replied  not 
a  word. 

Roderick  smiled  involuntarily  at  the  movement;  and  I, 
stepping  forward,  interposed  myself  between  the  father  and 
daughter  and  drew  the  child  away. 

"  Come ! "  I  said :  "  we  are  in  a  hurry."  And,  with  a 
bow  and  a  few  muttered  words  of  farewell,  I  hastened  out 
of  the  room ;  and,  rushing  from  the  hotel  as  if  a  plague  had 
suddenly  broken  out  there,  I  almost  ran  with  the  wondering 
Winifred  to  Broadway,  where  we  took  a  cable  car  as  the 
safest  and  speediest  means  of  leaving  that  vicinity  behind  us. 
I  had  left  the  note  which  I  was  writing  on  the  table;  but, 
fortunately,  I  had  sealed  and  stamped  it,  intending  to  put  it 
in  the  mail-box  in  the  hall.  I  was  sure  it  would  be  posted, 
and  gave  myself  no  further  concern  about  it. 


ANOTHER  UNEXPECTED  MEETING. 


163 


I  knew  Roderick  would  come  to  me  sooner  or  later  for 
an  explanation  of  that  strange  scene — tiie  presence  there  of 
the  child  and  my  own  singular  conduct.  His  impetuous 
nature  would  give  him  no  rest  till  he  had  cleared  up  that 
mystery.  But  at  least  the  child  should  be  safe  back  in  the 
convent  before  I  saw  him ;  and  I  could  then  refuse  to  answer 
any  questions,  or  take  any  course  I  thought  proper,  without 
fear  of  interference  on  the  part  of  Winifred. 

"  We  shall  go  on  up  to  the  Park,"  I  said  to  the  child ;  for  I 
had  some  fear  that  Roderick  might  come  straight  to  my  hotel. 
Winifred  made  no  answer,  and  we  took  the  car  to  Fifty- 
ninth  Street,  where  we  got  out  and  were  soon  strolling  through 
the  broad  alleys,  thronged  with  carriages ;  or  the  quieter  foot- 
paths of  that  splendid  Central  Park,  justly  the  pride  of  New 
Yorkers. 

"  Why  are  you  afraid  of  that  gentleman  ?  "  Winifred  asked 
me  in  her  abrupt  fashion  as  I  led  her  by  a  secluded  path 
to  show  her  a  statue  of  Auld  Lang  Syne  which  had  always 
appealed  to  me. 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  him,  dear." 

"  But  why  are  you  trembling,  and  why  did  you  run  away  ?  " 
she  asked  again. 

"  Because  it  was  time  for  us  to  go.  I  still  have  much  to 
show  you." 

"  I  like  that  gentleman,"  she  said. 

"  Do  you  ?  "  I  cried  impulsively.  "  I  am  so  glad  I  Go  on 
liking  him  just  as  much  as  ever  you  can." 

She  did  not  seem  so  much  surprised  at  this  statement  and 
at  my  apparent  inconsistency  as  a  grown  person  would  have 
been ;  but  she  went  on : 

"  Only  I  thought  it  was  rather  rude  of  him  to  question  me 
like  that." 


Il 


K4 


ASOTHER  UNEXPECTED  MEETING. 


"  He  did  not  mean  it  for  rudeness." 

"  No,  I  suppose  not."  the  child  said  slowly.  "  I'm  sorry 
you  took  me  away  so  quickly.  I  would  like  to  have  talked  to 
him.    He  reminded  me  of  Niall." 

"  Of  Niall  1 "  I  repeated  in  amazement. 

"Yes,"  she  answered.  "Of  course  he  hasn't  gray  hair 
and  he  doesn't  wear  the  same  kind  of  clothes  that  Niall  does, 
but  it's  his  face." 

I  remembered  how  the  same  jthought  had  on  one  occasion 

occurred  to  me. 

"  Then  I  think  he  knew  my  dear  Father  Owen,"  the  child 
continued.  "  I  wonder  how  he  knew  him  ?  Father  Owen 
never  came  to  America." 

"  Perhaps  he  heard  of  him,"  I  suggested;  for  I  was  not 
anxious  that  her  curiosity  in  the  subject  should  be  too  keenly 
aroused.  I  tried  to  divert  her  mind  by  showing  her  various 
monuments  and  busts  of  celebrated  people  as  we  went,  and 
at  last  we  stood  before  the  stone  group  of  Auld  Lang  Syne. 
It  is  so  natural,  so  easy,  so  lifelike  that  one  would  think  it 
represented  three  old  men,  boon  companions,  whom  we  had 
known.  The  very  buttons  on  their  surtouts,  the  smile  upon 
their  faces,  are  to  the  life.  Winifred  stood  by,  smiling  re- 
sponsively,  while  I  recited  to  her  the  familiar  lines  of  that 
homely  ballad  which  has  found  an  echo  in  every  land. 

We  could  not  see  everything  in  the  Park  that  day,  espe- 
cially as  we  began  to  feel  tired.  So,  living  the  rest  for  a 
future  occasion,  we  returned  home  again  and  had  a  rest  be- 
fore dinner.  The  gaily-lighted  dining-room,  the  well-dressed 
guests,  were  a  new  source  of  pleasure  to  Winifred;  but  every 
once  in  a  while  her  thoughts  reverted  to  the  dark  gentleman. 
I  was  haunted  by  a  fear  that  he  would  come  that  very  evening 
for  an  explanation,  and  I  did  not  linger  either  in  the  hotel 


ANOTHER  UNEXPECTED  MEETING.  ,6, 

parlor,  or  the  corridor.    But  the  evening  wore  away  and  theri 

ZTf  T  °?rK  ^  '°°'  ^'"'^«'  °"*  '"  »''°«  her  a 

chocolM  *!  u*  "'  ^'"^''*'  *'""  »«  '"y  '«  '^  'took  of 
chocolates  and  other  sweet,  for  her  to  take  back  with  her 
on  the  morrow. 

Next  day  faithful  to  promise.  I  brouglrt  her  back  to 
.hoc,  .where  I  left  her  somewhat  depressed  and  despondent, 
as  the  returnmg  pup.I  is  apt  to  be  for  a  day  or  two  Then 
I^  set  myself  to  await  Roderick's  visit  with  what  heart  I 


M 


A  MYSTERY  SOLVED. 


CHAPTER   XXI. 


A   MYSTERY  SOLVED. 


When  Winifred  had  returned  to  the  convent,  I  waited 
patiently  for  Roderick's  coming,  which  I  knew  could  not  be 
long  delayed.  Indeed,  before  the  week  was  out  his  card  was 
brought  to  me  where  I  sat  at  my  sitting-room  fire.  I  glanced 
up  at  him  as  he  entered  the  room.  His  face  was  grave,  even 
stem  in  its  expression,  reminding  me  forcibly  of  Niall.  After 
the  ordinary  salutations  had  been  exchanged,  he  stood  before 
me  silent  a  moment ;  then  he  said,  with  an  abruptness  quite 
foreign  to  his  manner: 

"  I  think  you  will  agree  with  me  that  this  is  no  time  for 
commonplaces.  I  have  come  to  know  the  meaning  of  this 
mystery." 

"  Mystery!  "  I  repeated  vaguely;  for,  with  all  my  planning 
and  thinking  what  I  should  say  when  he  came,  I  was  still 
hopelessly  at  a  loss,  and  resolved  to  be  guided  by  the  event. 
"  Yes,  mystery,"  he  declared  emphatically.  "  I  saw  in  your 
company  the  very  child  of  whom  I  told  you  I  had  had  a  glimpse 
and  whom  I  was  so  eager  to  see  again." 

"  But  how  could  I  know  that  the  child  with  me  was  the 
one  who  had  attracted  your  attention?" 

"  Well,  in  the  first  place,"  he  answered,  looking  at  me 
keenly,  "  I  gave  you  a  tolerably  accurate  description  of  the 
girl  in  question.  The  type  is  not  a  very  common  one,  and 
might,  I  think  be  easily  recognized." 


A  itrSTERY  SOLVED. 


i«7 


He  paused ;  and  I  remaining  silent,  he  went  on  again : 
"I  hope  you  will  not  consider  it  rude  if  I  say  that  I  think 
you  did  know  it  was  •  t  child  I  was  in  search  of." 

"And  why?"    I  a  l.H    sti'l  with  a  mere  helpless  idea  of 
gaining  time. 

"Because  of  uir  immr  iii  1  >ur  course  of  action  the 
other  day  in  tho  i);.r!,,r  „:  tl  v^  |  i.jrf.  I  saw  at  once  that, 
for  some  reasoi  or  aiv  Ji- .  y.i  wx-t  e  disturbed  at  my  presence 
there.  When  the  pir'  -j..  k  ■  and  thus  attracted  my  attention, 
you  were  distressed  atKl  \/h  It  1  was  in  the  act  of  addressing 
her  you  seized  her  b;,  I,.-  hand  and  fled  from  the  hotel." 
(An  irrepressible  smile  came  over  his  face  at  the  recollection.) 
"  You  left  in  such  haste  that  you  forgot  the  letter  you  had 
been  writing.  However,  I  posted  that  for  you.  And  you  went 
along  Thirty-third  Street,  I  should  be  afraid  to  say  at  what 
rate  of  speed.  Did  you  suppose  I  was  going  to  pursue  you 
and  forcibly  wrest  away  the  child  ?  " 

I  could  not  help  laughing  in  sympathy  at  the  drollery 
which  shone  out  through  the  anxiety  of  his  face,  like  sunshine 
from  a  cloud. 

"  Well,  not  exactly,"  I  observed ;  "  but,  truth  to  tell,  I  had 
no  desire  to  hold  any  conversation  with  you  just  then.  And, 
besides,  I  was  in  a  hurry." 

"Oh,  you  were  in  a  hurry — there  was  no  possible  doubt 
about  that!"    he  assented,  still  laughing. 

"Will  you  not  sit  down?"  I  inquired.  "You  look  so 
very  unsociable  standir.g,  and  the  night  is  cold  enough  to 
make  this  fire  agreeable." 

He  took  the  chair  I  indicated,  but  he  did  not  turn  from  the 
subject. 

"  May  I  ask,"  he  resumed,  "  if  the  child  whom  I  saw  on 
that  occasion  is  here  with  you  ?  " 


ilSB 


A  MYSTERY  SOLVED. 


X 


"  She  is  not,"  I  responded  briefly,  elated  that  I  could  do 
so  truthfully. 

"Where  is  she?" 

"  That  I  can  not  tell." 

"Can  not  tell !"  he  repeated  musingly.  "Surely  that  is  a  very 
strange  answer.    Perhaps,  at  least,  you  will  tell  me  who  she  is  ?" 

"  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  tell  that  either,"  I  replied  firmly. 

"  Mystery  on  mystery !  "  he  cried,  with  an  impatient  ges- 
ttire.  "  What  in  the  name  of  cor^mon-sense— if  you  will  for- 
give my  bluntness — is  the  purpose  of  this  mystification?" 

"  The  mystification  arises,"  I  declared,  "  from  the  fact  that 
I  am  solemnly  pledged  to  keep  both  her  identity  and  her  where- 
abouts a  secret." 

"  From  whom?  " 

The  question  was  a  shrewd  one.  I  hesiUted  how  to  answer 
it ;  but  at  last  I  said : 

"  From  all  inquirers." 

"Are  there  likely  to  be  many?"   he  asked,  quizzically. 

"  That  I  can  not  say." 

Roderick  lay  back  in  his  chair  and  pondered,  keeping  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  my  face. 

"Under  ordinary  circumstances,"  he  said,  after  a  pause, 
"  I  should,  of  course,  respect  your  desire  for  secrecy  and  say 
no  more  about  the  matter.  But  there  are  reasons  which  make 
the  identity  of  this  child  of  vital  interest  to  me." 

I  could  not  answer:  there  was  now  nothing  I  could  say 
without  revealing  the  secret  I  was  pledged  to  keep. 

"  You  will  pardon  me  for  saying  further  that  I  strongly 
suspect  /  am  the  person  toward  whom  you  are  pledged  to 
maintain  this  secrecy." 

"  You !  "  I  repeated.  "  Why,  surely  you  are  in  a  singula' 
mood  to-night,  full  of  fancies  and  suspicions ! " 


A  MYSTERY  SOLVED. 


I<9 


"  For  which  I  have  good  and  sufficient  reasons.  Are  yours 
equally  so  for  maintaining  this  secrecy?" 

"  I  believe  that  they  are,"  I  replied  gravely. 

He  rose  and  paced  the  floor  a  while.  Then  he  sat  down 
again,  and  drew  his  chair  nearer  mine,  as  if  impelled  by  some 
sudden  resolve. 

''  Since  you  will  not  give  mc  your  confidence—"  he  began. 

"Since  I  can  not,'  I  corrected  quietly. 
Well,  since  you  can  not  or  will  not,  I  shall  give  you 
mine  instead,  and  open  for  your  inspection  a  page  of  my  life 
which  I  fancied  was  closed  forever." 

He  paused,  and  an  expression  so  sad  and  troubled  crossed 
his  face  that,  in  my  deep  pity,  I  almost  regretted  mv  promise 
to  Niall. 

"I  was  brought  up,"  he  went  on,  "in  the  neighborhood 
of  the  Dargle.  That  beautiful  glen  and  stream  were  alike 
famihar  to  me.  I  inhabited  an  old  family  mansion,  which  to 
say  the  least,  stood  sadly  in  need  of  repair.  I  was  under  the 
guardianship  of  a  kinsman  who,  though  eccentric,  was  of 
sterling  worth." 

There  was  a  touch  of  emotion  in  his  voice,  as  he  thus 
referred  to  Niall,  which  pleased  me. 

"  When  I  was  about  twenty-three  we  had  a  serious  dif- 
ference of  opinion,  which  arose  in  part  from  my  marriage 
For  at  that  time  I  married  a  ver-  beautiful  girl,  who  lived 
only  a  few  years,  and  left  one  cKlId— a  girl." 

He  hurried  over  this  part  of  the  story,  which  seemed 
deeply  painful  to  him. 

"  It  is  always  unpleasant  to  go  into  family  affairs,  but  my 
relations  with  my  wife's  family  were  such  that  I  removed  the 
child  from  their  influence  and  took  her  back  to  the  old  dwel- 
hng.    There  I  placed  her  in  charge  of  an  old  woman  who 


ijo  A  MYSTERY  SOLVED. 

had  been  my  nurse.  I  refused  to  accept  any  of  my  wife's 
money,  even  for  the  maintenance  of  the  child;  and,  my  own 
circumstances  being  not  of  the  best,  I  came  to  America.  I 
had  but  one  object  in  view — to  make  money,  that  I  might 
return,  claim  my  child  and  restore  the  old  dwelling  of  my 
fathers  to  something  of  its  former  state." 

Again  there  was  a  long,  troubled  pause;  and  I  did  not 
interrupt  him  by  so  much  as  a  word,  nor  did  I  give  any  sign 
that  some  of  his  story  was  already  familiar  to  me.  When 
he  resumed  it  was  in  a  different  tone.  His  face  was  drawn 
and  haggard,  his  voice  tremulous: 

"  For  some  time  I  sent  the  half-yearly  remittance  faith- 
fully to  my  little  Winifred,  and  I  was  happy  in  so  doing. 
Then  I  received  a  letter— from  whom  precisely  I  know  not, 
though  I  believe  it  purported  to  be  from  a  priest.  It  was 
written  in  the  third  person  and  it  simply  informed  me  that 
my  child  was  dead." 

"Dead!"  I  exclaimed— "dead !     How  cruel!— how— " 
I  was  about  to  say  untrue,  but  I  checked  myself  in  time. 
Roderick  glanced  quickly  toward  me  but  said  nothing. 

"  It  was  indeed  a  cruel  blow,"  he  resumed  at  last ;  "  and 
after  that  I  gave  up  all  desire  to  see  Ireland  again.  I  drifted 
on  here,  doing  whatever  good  I  could  and  working  still,  but 
with  little  personal  hope  or  interest  to  cheer  me  in  my  labors." 
His  weary,  despondent  tone  went  to  my  heart,  which  was 
beating  just  then  with  exultation;  for  I  was  truly  rejoiced 
to  know  that  Winifred's  father  was  worthy  of  her,  that  poor 
Niall's  dreams  might  one  day  oome  true— at  leuM  in  .so  far 
as  seeing  the  reunion  of  father  «nd  rhild,  with  Roderick's 
return  to  the  home  of  his  youth.  I  resolved  to  write  to  Niall 
without  delay,  tell  him  of  wlwt  I  had  discovered  and  obtain 
his  permission  to  reveal  all  to  Roderick,     fn  the  meantime. 


A  ^fYSTERY  SOLVED. 


however,  I  must,  of  course,  be  true  to  my  promise  and  give 
Roderick  no  hint  of  the  knowledge  I  possessed. 

"  And  you  never  found  out  from  whom  that  letter  came  ? '" 
I  inquired. 

"  Never :  there  was  no  means  of  finding  out.  Father  Owen 
was  at  that  time  absent  in  Rome.  I  presumed  it  was  from 
the  priest  who  had  replaced  him.  I  wrote  to  him ;  the  letter 
followed  him  to  a  distant  parish  in  a  remote  part  of  Ireland, 
whither  he  had  already  returned.  He  had  never  written  to 
me,  he  replied,  and  had  no  knowledge  of  the  matter  at  all. 
I  wrote  to  Granny  Meehan,  the  woman  who  had  charge  of 
Winifred.  She  never  answered.  I  suppose  on  the  death  of 
the  child  she  had  wandered  away.  I  then  sent  a  letter  to 
Niall,  the  eccentric  kinsman  to  whom  I  before  referred.  He, 
I  suppose,  was  either  dead  or  away  on  some  of  his  wander- 
ings." 

"  Your  story  ^s  indeed  a  sad  one,"  I  put  in,  grieved  that 
I  could  do  nothing  to  dispel  his  sorrow.  I  could  not  let 
him  know  that  Granny  Meehan  was  still  faithful  to  her  post, 
that  Niall  was  .still  dreaming  and  planning  for  his  welfare 
and  for  the  restoration  of  the  old  place ;  and  that,  best  of 
all,  Winifred  was  still  living  and  such  a  child  as  might  de- 
'.Ight  a  father's  heart — in  fact,  that  she  was  the  child  who  liad 
so  deeply  interested  him  already.  Whether  he  suspected  that 
such  was  the  case  or  merely  saw  in  her  some  chance  re- 
semblance I  cou'd  not  yet  tell. 

"  You  may  well  say  it  is  a  sad  story,"  Roderick  answered 
"  To  me  it  seems  all  the  more  so  that  since  the  receipt  of 
that  letter  which  daslicd  all  my  hopes  Fortune  has  siniltd 
upon  me.  Everything  I  touch  seem;;  to  turn  to  money.  The 
novel,  rejected  before,  has  since  been  accepted,  and  has  run 
through  several  editions ;   articles  from  my  pen  are  in  demand 


I7» 


A  MYSTERY  SOLVED. 


by  leading  magazines;  all  my  speculations  have  turned  out 
well,  and  my  insurance  business  has  prospered.  It  is  the  old, 
old  story  of  Fortune  coming  too  late." 

I  sat  still,  joyful,  yet  amazed ;  thinking  within  myself : 
"  How  wonderful  are  the  ways  of  Providence !  Niall's 
dream  of  restoring  the  old  place  shall  certainly  be  realized 
now.  Father  and  child,  reunited,  shall  dwell  amongst  those 
lovely  scenes:  while  the  faithful  hearts  of  Niall  and  Granny 
Meehan  shall  be  filled  with  joy.  How  seldom  does  life  work 
out  events  so  happily !  " 

"  Would  vou  like  to  see  the  old  place  again  ? "    I  asked. 
"  What  use  now  ?  "   he  cried.    "  Some  day  I  may  take  the 
journey  to  see  if  Niall  be  still  amongst  the  living ;  but  I  shrink 
from  that  as  yet." 

We  sat  silent  after  that  for  some  moments,  I  afraid  to 
break  the  spell  lest  I  should  in  any  way  betray  the  knowledge 
which  so  filled  my  heart.  But  presently  Roderick  roused  him- 
self with  the  remark : 

"  That  child  whom  I  first  saw  in  the  carriage  on  Broadway, 
«m1  whom  I  next  saw  in  yoor  company,  has  awakened  a 
strange  train  of  thought  in  my  mind.  I  iMve  even  dared  to 
hope  that  J  have  been  the  victim  of  a  trick  and  that  my  child 
still  Kve».  Her  voice,  when  she  spoke  in  the  Waldorf  parlor 
the  other  day,  seemed  as  an  echo  of  my  vanidied  youth.  It 
was  tfie  voice  of  my  wife ;  and  when  the  child  rose  from 
the  chair  and  confronted  me,  for  an  instant  I  believed  that 
the  grave  bad  given  up  its  dead.  It  «ra»  my  wife  herself  as 
I  saw  Hct  first,  many  years  before  our  marndge." 
"  Resemblances  Me  very  delusive,"  I  said  larady. 
"  But  was  this  resemblance  delusive  - "  he  askeA.  leaning 
forward  and  lookmfif  me  m  the  lace. 

"How  can  I  answer?    I  never  saw  yo«r  •*■,''  I  replied. 


.' «^- 5^^«5B!»^;^ 


A  mrSTERY  SOLVED. 


173 


If  wai  an  fvasion,  and  perhaps  he  saw  it;  but  he  only 
•ijfhed  deeply. 

■  I  had  expected  better  things  of  you."  he  went  on;  "  for 
we  are  old  enough  friends  that  I  might  have  looked  to  you 
f<ir  help  in  clearing  up  a  mystery.  As  it  is,  you  will  not  or 
can  not;  and  I  must  drag  on  in  the  same  weary,  hapless 
fashion  or  follow  out  the  clue  for  myself.  Indeed,  I  trust 
you  will  think  it  no  discourtesy  when  I  tell  you  that  I  must 
and  will  find  out  who  this  child  is." 

His  resemblance  to  Niall  was  once  more  almost  startling; 
though,  needless  to  observe,  there  was  no  wildncss  nor  .violence 
of  any  sort  in  his  manner. 

"I  wish  I  were  able  to  give  you  the  information  yini  de- 
sire," I  said  formally.    "  But  at  present  it  is  impossible." 

He  rose  to  take  his  leave. 

"  In  that  case  I  must  not  intrude  upon  you  any  longer," 
he  answered  coldly.  "  I  am  afraid  I  have  been  thought- 
less in  occupying  so  much  of  your  time  with  my  personal 
affairs." 

I  felt  at  that  moment  that  a  valued  friendship  of  many 
years  was  endangered,  but  I  could  not  be  false  to  my  trust. 
Niall  must  hear  all,  and  then  it  woud  be  for  him  to  act.  I 
held  out  my  hand.  Roderick  took  it  buv  there  was  no  warmth 
in  the  handshake;  and  as  he  disappeared  down  the  corridor 
I  stood  looking  after  him  sadly,  fully  realizing  that  for  the 
time  being  I  had  lost  much  in  his  estimation.  Yet  I  hopxl 
to  be  able  to  repair  all  and  explain  all  in  good  time. 

I  did  not  lose  a  moment  in  getting  out  my  writing-desk 
and  writing  to  Niall  a  full  account  of  all  that  I  had  heard. 
My  pen  moved  rapidly  and  joyfully  over  the  page.  I  had 
.so  much  to  tell !  Roderick  still  true  to  his  child,  his  kinsman. 
and  his  oW  home;    Roderick  having  acquired  wealth  which 


^fmsas.- 


IS- 

il' 


,,4  A  MYSTERY  SOLVED. 

he  would  be  only  too  happy  to  spend  in  fulfilling  the  old 
man's  dream.  I  also  wrote  to  Father  Farley  and  begged  him 
to  let  Granny  Meehan  know  the  good  news  as  speedily  as 
possible.  How  I  wished  that  I  could  fly  over  the  ocean  and 
be  myself  the  bearer  of  those  good  tidings!  I  fancied  the 
patient  old  face  of  Granny  brightening,  and  the  loving,  tender 
voice  giving  forth  thanks  to  her  Creator. 

The  scene  rose  so  vividly  before  me  that  I  sat  back  in 
my  chair,  with  pen  uplifted,  to  ponder  it  over.  There  was 
the  hearth  in  the  great  kitchen,  n«ar  which  Granny  Meehan  sat. 
A  fire  was  burning  there— a  clear  peat  fire;  beside  it  the 
tranquil  figure  of  the  blind  woman,  with  the  cat,  Brown 
Peter,  purring  against  her  dress ;  and  Barney  and  Moira  in 
the  background,  hanging  about  to  hear  the  great  news  which 
good  Father  Owen  had  to  tell.  And  I  conjured  up  the  fine 
face  of  the  priest  beaming  with  the  glad  tidings;  and  I 
seemed  to  hear  once  more  his  genial  voice  reading  aloud  the 
welcome  letter  from  America. 

I  retuined  to  my  task  and  wrote  on.  while  the  clock  on 
my  mantel  tolled  out  eleven,  and  the  din  of  the  street  below 
began  to  give  place  to  the  silence  of  night.     I  had  a  curious 
impression  that  Winifred  stood  beside  me  as  I   wrote,  her 
image  seemed  so  very  vivid.     I  resolved  to  go  to  see  her  on 
the  morrow,  which  was  Thursday— visiting-day  at  the  con- 
vent.    But  I  knew  it  would  be  another  trial  to  refrain  from 
telling  her  of  her  father  and  of  the  mystery  concerning  hi"., 
which  had  just  been  cleared  up.     My  original  intention  of 
striving  to  kindle  her  affection  and  admiration  for  the  father 
she  scarcely  remembered  was  strengthened  by  the  knowledge 
:  had  gained.     Knowing  her  father  to  be  entirely  worthy  of 
her  love  and  to  be  devotedly  attached  to  her,  I  could  with  a 
clear  conscience  describe  him  as  he  really  was,  and  clothe 


^.^ssi^es^mssiar  "--^mm^ 


Mnjss^ssse 


A  MYSTERY  SOLVED.  175 

the  phantom  she  remembered  with  the  lovable  attributes  of 
the  real  man. 

My  letters  finished,  I  rang  for  a  bell-boy,  and  had  them 
posted  at  once;  for  it  seemed  to  me  that  they  would  never 
get  over  to  Ireland,  and  that  I  would  never  have  an  answer 
back  again.  Thtn  I  stood  for  a  moment  at  the  window  and 
looked  out  at  the  still  brightly  lighted  streets,  where  the 
passers-by  were  fewer;  though  many  still  hurried  to  and  fro 
fr-jm  the  theatres,  concerts,  or  lectures— all  intent  on  business 
or  pleasure.  Carriages  swept  by,  cars  with  belated  passengers 
in  them  still  ran,  and  the  hum  of  the  great  city  was  audible 
from  afar  even  ai  that  late  hoar. 


176 


AT  THE  CONVENT. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 


AT  THE  CONVENT. 

I  WENT  ttp  CO  see  Winifred  next  day,  and.  in  the  light  of 
„,y  new  discoveries,  to  talk  with  her  over  past,  present,  and 
future  She  came  into  the  dimly-Ughted  convent  parlor  w.th 
son^ething  of  her  fonner  brightness.  Her  "ttle Jg"-  was 
particularly  graceful  and  symmetrical  in  the  somber  black  of 
I  costume.  An  attempt  had  bee-  made  to  bmshber  curls 
as  smooth  as  the  regulations  required,  but  they  st.ll  broke  out 
mutinously,   her  eyes  shone;    while  her  complexion,  though 

paler  than  before,  was  clear  and  healthful.     Al  present  m 

the  parior-for  it  was  visiting-day-turned  to  look  at  her, 

and  I  heard  more  than  one  whispered  inquiry  concerning  her 

in  the  groups  that  sat  around. 

I  inquired  first  about  her  school-life-her  lessons  and  all 

those  little  details  of  convent  life  familiar  to  girts  who  have 

ever  been  at  boarding-school. 

•'  I  am  singing  in  the  choir  now,"   she  told  me;      and  I 

like  that  very  much.    Did  you  ever  sing  in  a  chcir  when  you 

were  little?"  , 

"  No,"  I  answered;    "  for  the  best  of  all  reasons,  that  1 

ha<l  no  voice." 

"  Well,  we  practise  a  great  deal,"  she  went  on ;  and  that 
,5  alwa%-s  nice.  I  think  my  voice  sounded  best  on  the  hills. 
Do  you  remember  when  I  used  to  sit  on  the  tree  oyer  the 
Dargle '    Well    1  coukl  raise  my  voice  very  high  then. 

"  I  rememb^^r  well,"  I  replied;  "  and  those  old  ballads  you 


AT  THE  CONVENT. 


177 


sang  suited  your  voice.    Rut  I  am  glad  you  arc  getting  inter- 
ested in  the  choir  and  in  your  singing  lessons." 

"Yes,  and  some  of  my  other  lessons  I  like  very  much. 
And,  then,  we  are  to  have  a  play,  in  which  I  am  to  take  the 
part  of  an  Indian." 

"  You  ought  to  do  that  well,"  I  remarked.  "  because  you 
have  lived  so  much  in  the  open  air." 

I  thought  as  I  spoke  that  she  had  indeed  the  free,  wild 
:,Tace  of  movement  peculiar  to  the  children  of  Nature. 

"That's  what  Sister  said  when  she  gave  me  the  part," 
Winifred  assented.  "  It  is  great  fun  being  an  Indian.  I  have 
to  wear  feathers  on  my  head  and  some  paint  on  my  face,  and 
a  beaded  skirt  and  a  blanket  embroidered  with  quills  and 
things.    Wouldn't  Barney  and  Moira  stare  if  they  saw  me!  " 

And  she  laughed  at  the  picture  she  conjured  up  of  tlieir 
amazement. 

"Granny  Meehan  would  stare  too,  were  it  possible  for 
her  to  see  you,"  I  observed;  "though  that  she  coi-'.d  not  do 
even  if  you  stood  before  her." 

"Poor  old  Granny!"  Winifred  said  softly.  "I  wish  I 
could  see  her.    But  there's  no  use  wishing." 

And  she  dismissed  the  subject  with  that  curiously  unchild- 
like  composure  and  self-control  which  I  had  often  pcrceivc<l 
in  her. 

"  Winifred,"  I  finally  asked,  "  do  you  remember  your  father 
at  all?" 

She  looked  startled,  but  answered: 

"  I  suppose  it  was  he  who  shut  the  door  hard  when  the 
lady  in  yellow  made  him  angry." 

"  Yes,"  I  said :   "  I  suppose  it  was." 

"He  was  very  dark."  Winifred  went  on,  thoughtfully. 
"  I  think  it  was  the  same  one  who  took  me  away.     He  was 


i  < 


tji 


AT  THE  CONVENT. 


dressed  all  in  black  and  he  looked  very  sad.  He  took  me 
by  the  hand  and  we  went  out  of  the  house  and  throuRh  some 
streets,  and  then  he  put  me  before  him  on  a  horse  and  rode 
off.    He  was  very  kind  and  not  at  all  angry  that  day." 

"  They  say  he  is  living.  Winifred  my  child,"  I  venturetl. 
"  Would  you  like  to  see  him  again  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes!  "  she  cried;  "  though  perhaps  he  would  be  like 
a  stranger ;  it  is  so  very  long  ago."  ^ 

"  Niall  believes  you  will  see  him  yet,"  I  continued;  so 
you  ought  to  get  accustomed  to  the  idea.  I  used  to  know 
iiim,  and  he  was  noble  and  good  and  kind-hearted." 

"  You  never  told  me  before  that  you  knew  him,"  Winifred 
remarked,  looking  at  me  curiously. 

"And  yet  I  did,  and  he  was  all  that  I  have  said,"  I  de- 
clared. 

"  But  he  does  not  care  for  me,"  said  Winifred  suddenly, 
"  or  he  would  not  have  gone  away  and  left  me." 

I  was  startled  and  at  the  same  time  touched  by  the  deep 
sadness  of  her  tone. 

"  Perhaps  he  thought  you  were  dead,"  I  suggested. 
"  Thought  I  was  dead!  "  repeated  Winifred,  in  surprise. 
Then  she  burst  into  a  peal  of  laughter. 
"  Winifred,"  I  cried,  bending  toward  her,  "  think  that— 
think  anything  rather  than  that  your  father  has  forgotten  you 
or  does  not  care  for  you." 

The  tearr,  came  into  her  eyes,  but  she  suddenly  turned 
away  from  the  subject,  as  she  usually  did  when  deeply  moved 
—a  habit  which  she  had  in  common  with  her  father. 

"You  never  saw  my  classroom,  did  you?"  she  inquired. 
I  answered  that  T  had  not. 

"  Then  I  will  ask  if  I  may  take  you  up  to  see  it,"  she  said, 
darting  away  for  the  desired  permission. 


AT  THE  CONSENT.  ,jf 

We  went  up  the  great,  broad  stairs  and  along  the  shining 
corridor  to  a  room  with  a  half  glass  door  and  a  pair  of  broad, 
low  windows.  Within  it  were  rows  of  desks  familia'r  to  all 
convent  girls,  and  a  desk  for  the  teacher  standing  upon  a 
raised  platform.  There  was  a  small  sutue  of  the  Sacred 
Heart  and  one  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  resting  upon  brackets, 
with  flowers  before  them;  and  a  fine  engraving  or  two  of 
sacred  subjects  hung  with  the  maps  upon  the  walls.  An  im- 
mense blackboard  occupied  one  side  of  the  apartment.  The 
room  was  empty  as  regarded  occupants;  and  Winifred 
dancing  across  the  floor  to  one  of  the  desks  which  stood  near 
the  window,  cried: 
"This  is  mine!" 

I  went  and  sat  down  on  the  chair,  fastened  securely  to 
the  floor,  which  looked  out  upon  the  wintry  landscape.  At 
that  moment  a  bird  came  chirping  and  twittering  about  the 
window-sill,  and  cocking  his  bright  little  eye  as  he  looked  in 
at  us  through  the  pane. 

"He  comes  very  often,"  said  Winifred,  regarding  the 
little  brown  object  with  a  kindly  glance.  "  Sometimes  I  feed 
him  with  crumbs.  He  always  reminds  me  of  Father  Owen's 
robin  far  away  over  tlie  sea,  and  I  wonder  if  he  will  ever 
fly  so  far." 

I  laughed  at  the  idea. 

"Perhaps  he  may  go  and  take  a  message  to  that  other 
bird,"  I  suggested. 

"Not    until    the    spring,    anyway,"    Winifred    answered 

gravely.     "But  when  I  see  him  out  there  on  cold,  stormy 

days  I  think  how  Father  Owen  said  that  the  robin  did  his 

work  in  storm  or  calm  and  tried  to  sing  and  be  merry." 

"And  I  suppose  you  try  to  imitate  him?"  I  put  in 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "I  think  I  do;  but  I'm  not  always  merry 


MICtOCOTY   KESOIUTION   TEST   CHART 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


_^  APPLIED    IIVMGE      In 

^^  165 J  Cost   Mam  Streel 

r^a  Rochester,    New   Vork         14609        USA 

'-^  (716)    482  -  0300  -  Phone 

^=  (716)   2BB  -  5989  -  Fa« 


,go  AT  THE  CONVENT. 

in  the  storm,  and  my  teacher  tells  me  Tm  too  wayward  and 
unstable:   that  I'm  never  two  days  the  same." 
I  said  nothing,  and  she  went  on : 

"All  my  life  people  have  told  me  that  I'm  wayward.  ! 
used  to  be  called  Wayward  Winifred.  Perhaps  it's  from  liv- 
ing so  much  on  the  hills;  for  you  know  they  change  often. 
Sometimes  they're  beautiful,  with  the  sun  shining  like  gold 
on  their  heads ;  and  again  they're  dark  and  threatening." 
"  Like  Niall,"  I  added. 

"  Don't  say  anything  against  Niall-O  poor,  poor  Niall!  " 
she  interrupted,  almost  vehemently. 

"  Well,  that  is  not  exactly  against  him.  But  he  is  rather 
variable,"  I  declared.  "  But  now  you  are  in  a  place  where 
everything  is  the  same  day  after  day." 

"  I  found  that  hard  at  first,"  Winifred  said— "very  hard ; 
but  now  I  don't  mind  so  much.  And  I  suppose  if  I  stay  long 
enough,  I  shall  come  to  be  always  the  same  too." 

Inwardly  I  doubted  if  such  a  result  were  possible,  but  I 
did  not  tell  her  that.  I  asked  her  to  show  me  what  was  in 
her  desk,  and  she  began  to  take  out,  one  by  one,  pencils,  pens, 
colored  crayons,  exercise  books,  a  slate,  a  pile  of  lesson  books. 
She  had  also  her  beads  and  her  prayer-book  in  there.  The 
latter  contained  some  very  pretty  lace  pictures,  given  her  by 
her  teachers  as  rewards  of  merit,  on  her  birthday  or  some  other 
festal  occasion.  One  of  the  pictures,  however,  she  took  from 
between  the  leaves  of  the  book  and  handed  it  to  me. 

"  Do  you  remember  the  day  Father  Owen  gave  me  that?  " 

she  asked.  „ 

"  Was  that  the  one  he  told  you  to  get  out  of  his  breviary  ? 

I  inquired. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Winifred ;   "  and  it  was  on  the  day  that 
you  told  me  you  were  going  to  bring  me  to  America." 


^T  THE  COXl'EXT. 


i8i 


"Yes,  it  was  that  memorable  day." 

"  I  hated  you  then-oh,  so  much !  "  cried  Winifred ,-  "  and 
I  thought  I  should  always  go  on  hating  you,  till  we  went 
mto  the  church  and  Father  Owen  began  to  plav  the  organ" 
Music  has  charms,"  I  quoted,  "to  soothe-well,  I  won't 
say  the  savage  breast,  but  the  angry  feelings  of  a  certain  little 
g.rl  I  am  very  glad,  though,  that  it  had  that  result;  for  I 
should  not  have  liked  you  to  go  on  hating  me.  That  would 
never  have  done;  and  I'm  afraid  in  that  case  we  slould  have 
had  to  give  up  our  trip  to  America." 

She  had  a  mischievous  look  about  the  eves,  which  made 
me  say: 

"  Perhaps  you  think  that  wouldn't  have  been  so  great  a 
rmsfortune,  after  all,  my  Waywa .-d  Winifred !  " 
She  laughed  merrily,  and  replied: 

cam7°?  *'"''  T  ""S^'-^*^^"'-  !•'"  g'ad  in  some  ways  I 
came.  T.s  a  wonderful  country  this  America;  and  I  have 
seen  such  beautiful,  strange  things." 

■'  Not  the  golden  streets,"  I  observed;   "  nor  the  trees  with 
gold  leaves  nor  the  birds  with  jewelled  wings  " 

and'^J*'"  t'  '^'■'''^.'  "^  ''"^'"''  '''"  ^"y*'"&  "ke  that, 
and  I  know  those  stories  weren't  true  " 

addfd :    ''^^"^'  "'  '^  ^°'  '^"  '^''""  *^"*  ^'"^  ^='"'^hed,  and 

"But  I  have  seen  so  many  beautiful  things,  and  I  am 

GZy^L'Sll  ■"  ''-'  '  -''  "--  '-^  '— ^  -'* 

aided."  ""■"'  ''"'"'  "'*  '^^  '''"''"'  *-^  ^°"<=l--n  «"- 

love'yt'  '""  '"'  '""  "  '■"'=   '  '""  ^*^^"''  -d  I  "o 
She  said  this  with  such  pretty  fervor  and  yet  with  that 


I 


,8,  AT  THE  CONVENT. 

sweet  condescension  that  always  made  me  feel  as  if  a  little 

princess  were  addressing  me. 

"You  are  getting  to  like  the  convent  too?"  I  said. 
"Oh,  yes!"  she  cried;  "it  is  so  quiet  and  peacelul,  like 
a  church;  and  every  one  speaks  nicely,  and  we  hear  so  many 
things  about  God  and  our  Blessed  Mother  and  the  samts. 
I  am  interested  in  a  lot  of  things  I  never  knew  before: 
and  my  teachers  are  different  from  any  people  I  ever  knew 

before." 

I  was  well  satisfied;  and  when  we  returned  to  the  convent 
parlor  I  had  a  talk  with  the  Religious  who  presided  there, 
while  Winifred  went  off  to  get  her  wraps— she  having  ob- 
tained permission  to  accompany  me  as  far  as  the  gate.  The 
Religious  gave  a  very  good  account  of  Winifred.  She  de- 
clared that  her  training  had  made  her  different  from  other 
girls,  and  somewhat  wayward  and  hard  to  control  by  ordmary 

means. 

"  At  first,"  she  said,  "  the  rule  and  the  monotony  of  con- 
vent life  seemed  most  irksome  to  her,  as  well  as  the  indoor 
existence,  accustomed  as  she  had  been  in  Ireland  to  spend 
nearly  all  her  time  in  the  open  air." 
I  nodded  assent. 

"  Being  quite  undisciplined,  too."  she  went  on,  "  she  was 
inclined  to  a  certain  waywardness  of  character,  which  it  was 
hard  to  fight  against." 

"  I  can  understand,"  I  agreed. 

"  She  was  a  very  independent  young  lady  when  she  first 
came,  I  assure  you,"  the  Religious  said,  smiling;  "but,  on 
the  other  hand,  she  is  such  a  sweet,  bright  temperament,  so 
wholesome,  so  generous,  so  innately  refined-a  thorough  little 
ladv  And  she  is  so  genuinely  pious:  nothing  sentimental 
or  overstrained  in  her  devotion.    She  has  the  faith  and  fervor 


AT  THE  CONVENT. 


183 


of  her  country.     Altogether,  her  nature  is  one  susceptible  of 
the  Wghest  training.     Her  very  faults  are  lovable." 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  hear  you  say  all  this !  "  I  declared 
cordially ;  "  for  it  fits  in  so  well  with  the  impression  I  had 
formed  of  her;  and,  though  I  met  her  as  a  stranger  last  sum- 
mer, I  have  now  the  best  of  reasons  for  feeling  a  particular 
interest  in  her." 

"Her  intelligence  is  quite  remarkable,"  went  on  the  Re- 
ligious. "  Her  mind  is  in  some  directions  far  in  advance  of 
her  years,  and  she  has  really  a  fair  share  of  education." 

"You  see  she  had  for  her  teacher,"  I  observed,  "an  ec- 
centric but  really  learned  kinsman." 

"  That  accounts  for  it !  And  she  has  a  good  voice.  Our 
music  teachers  are  quite  enthusiastic  about  it." 

"  She  has  a  voice  of  uncommon  sweetness  and  power,"  I 
assented.  "  I  heard  her  singi-  Jn  the  Irish  hills.  Altogether, 
I  hope  the  best  from  her  staj    with  you." 

We  were  here  interrupted  by  Winifred  herself,  who  ap- 
peared in  her  hat  and  coat.  She  made  a  graceful  curtsy  to 
the  teacher,  and  together  we  went  out  arm  in  arm,  walking 
over  the  crisp  snow  which  had  fallen  over  night  and  which 
sparkleH  •  -  the  sunlight;  and  looking  away  into  the  distance, 
where  afternoon  was  beginning  to  darken  and  the  gray 
sky  to  take  on  a  warmer  glow.  When  we  reached  the  gate 
we  stood  still  a  few  minutes,  Winifred  looking  wistfully  out, 
as  though  she  would  fain  have  gone  with  me. 

"It  will  be  study  hour  when  I  get  back,"  she  told  me- 
"  and  we  have  a  lot  of  hard  things  for  to-morrow.  Did  you 
find  globes  hard  when  you  were  at  school?" 

"  Indeed  I  did,"  I  said,  remembering  my  own  bewildered 
floundermgs  about  in  that  particular  branch  of  sfidy. 

"  Well,  we  have  them,  and  ancient  history  and  algebra— 


04  AT  THE  CONSENT. 

oh,  that  awful  algebra !— to-morrow.     So  I  think  I  must  be 
going." 

"  Good-by !  "  I  said ;   "  and,  Winifred,  don't  forget  to  say 
a  prayer  sometimes  for  your  father,  that  you  may  see  him 
.again  in  this  world,  and  both  be  happy  together." 
1       "  I  won't  forget !  "  Winifred  promised.     "  I  always  pray 
for  my  mother,  who  is  dead." 

"  That  is  right,  dear ;  but  you  must  remember  the  living 
as  well.    And  now  good-by  again !  " 

"  I  am  going  to  run  all  the  way  back,"  she  announced. 

"  Very  well ;  I  will  stand  and  watch  you.  Now  for  the 
run !    Let  us  see  how  quick  you  can  get  up  the  avenue." 

S'..e  was  off  like  a  deer  darting  to  cover ;  and  it  reminded 
me  of  the  time  when  I  had  seen  her  running  amongst  the 
hills,  springing  lightly  from  peak  to  peak  and  almost  horri- 
fying me  by  her  reckless  movements. 

"  I  should  like  her  to  have  had  a  few  years  .t  the  convent," 
I  thought;  "  the  refined  atmosphere  there  would  be  just  what 
she  needs  to  tone  down  her  high  spirits  and  give  her  the 
touches  she  requires.  But  I  suppose  when  Niall  hears  all 
he  will  be  too  impatient  for  the  reunion  with  those  he  loves 
to  wait.  Besides,  it  would  be  unjust  to  Roderick.  I  must 
-  explain  everything  to  him  as  soon  as  I  get  Niall's  permission." 

I  pondered  thus  all  the  way  to  town,  and  wondered  how 
soon  I  could  hear  from  Ireland,  and  how  I  should  pass  the 
intervening  time  till  my  letters  arrived.  But  in  New  York 
time  flies,  and  the  days  seem  all  too  short  for  the  multitude 
of  affairs;  so  that  week  followed  week  and  ran  into  months 
before  I  realized  that  my  letters  remained  unanswered. 


mslFRED  TELLS  HER  NAME. 


'8s 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

WINIFRED   TELLS    HER    NAME 

distant   bow     I    had    n„  "'^''^'^  8^^^«  "^e  a 

Every  morning  I  1"?   '^°"^'"^=''°"   ^'th    him    whatever. 
-^   morning  I  eagerly  questioned  the  hotel  cl^rt      tu 

xLThri  r  '"^  ''"'-■    "  ^'-  ^""^  - -tts  ""^'^ 

-  though t::;  r^-  r""r  ^''^-^  ^^^  ^^^^^y^'-^ 
With  RodL-i  Tne'i:.?;;  at„r  i"h  'r  '-^^^ 

toward  a  side  of  the  hall  where  aTwn,  '°  ""' 

to  and  fro  in  the  pauses  of  the  Isic  0^  h""'  "T"'"^ 
the  wall  attracted  mv  .ft    *  r  ^  '^^°  ^t°od  near 

and  he  had  "  d entl7carht  "m  '\  ""  ^"^^""^"^  "'By-e. 
-  eyes  intently "1^^1-1^^;  te^l""^  ^i'^ 

sang;  ^ -M  not  te„  a^ord:  ^Za  ^1:1-;^^^^^^  .- 
was  accompanied  by  a  flute  or  a  viobncTo  V  .  ;  T  '' 
des.re-to  get  out  of  the  hall  and  away      j  Lt  °" 

upon  the  prog^mme,  avoiding  anotheMook.      '''  ""  '''' 

•Srt-t""^^'r''^'^"^^"-"'^  whispered: 
at  the  h;tS  "■   ''  '^  "^'*  °^^'-  ''-'^^^^  ^-tlema":  we  met 

must  go  at  once.    To  my  relief.  Roderick  made 


li 


,g6  WINIFRED  TELLS     7;/?  NAME. 

no  movement  to  follow  us.  His  fine  courtesy  prevented  him 
from  a  course  of  action  so  obviously  distressing  to  me.  Next 
day,  however,  I  got  a  note  from  him,  in  which  he  said : 

''  The  chance  meeting  of  yesterday  evening  has  confirmed 
me  more  than  ever  in  the  belief  that  the  child  whom  you 
choose  to  surround  with  so  much  mystery  is  in  some  way 
connected  with  my  life.  The  sight  of  her  renewed  once 
more  those  memories  of  the  past,  and  filled  me  with  a  hope- 
so  strong,  if  delusive— that  I  was  misinformed  regarding  the 
supposed  de^th  of  my  daughter.  If  this  child  be  not  my  own 
Winifred,  slit  must  be  in  some  way  related  to  my  late  wife. 
I  implore  you,  by  our  years  of  friendship,  to  end  my  suspense 
by  telling  me  whatever  you  may  know  of  the  girl.  You  will 
be  doing  the  greatest  possible  service  to 
"  Your  devoted,  friend, 

"  Roderick  O'Byrne." 
I  answered  him  at  once  as  follows: 

"  I  beg  of  you  in  turn,  by  our  friendship,  to  wait.  Give 
me  a  month  or  two,  and  I  promise  to  reUeve  your  su  pense, 
or  at  least  to  give  you  such  excellmt  reasons  for  my  silence 
that  you  will  no  longer  doubt  the  sincerity  of  my  desire  to 
serve  you." 

The  note  posted,  I  persecuted  the  clerk  more  than  ever 
by  my  inquiries  for  letters,  and  I  grumbled  and  growled  at 
Niall  and  at  Father  Owen. 

"Why  on  earth  couldn't  they  answer,  if  it  were  only  a 
line?  What  could  they  be  thinking  of?  Didn't  they  know  I 
must  be  intolerably  anxious?  " 

This  was  the  sum  of  my  growling,  and  I  continued  it 
during  all  the  Christmas  holidays,  when  Winifred  was  with 
me;  though,  of  course,  I  could  say  nothing  to  her.  One 
afternoon,  when  I  had  been  particularly  anxious,  I  went  out 


IVINIVRUl)  riil.l.S  llliK  \',lMli. 


187 


with  the  chilfl,  spent  a  half  hour  at  the  cathedral,  which  was 
a  daily  haunt  of  mine,  an<l  then  tried  to  control  my  feverish 
PRitation  by  gettiiip  into  a  restless  crowd  of  shoppers  who 
thronped  the  department  stores. 

Winifred  was  delighted.  It  was  a  new  experience.  She 
never  could  get  over  her  wonder,  though,  at  the  number  of 
people  in  New  York  city. 

"  Where  do  they  all  come  from  ?  "  she  cried ;  "  and  where 
do  they  live?    Are  there  houses  enough  for  them  all?" 

1  assured  her  that  most  of  them  were  housed,  though 
there  was  a  sad  proportion  of  them  homeless.  I  bt  ought 
tears  to  her  eyes  with  the  account  I  gave  her.  as  we  passed 
on  to  the  quieter  Fifth  Avenue,  of  the  sufferings  of  the  poor 
in  all  big  cities. 

She  talked  on  this  subject  most  of  the  way  home;  and 
when  I  would  have  bought  her  some  choice  candies  she 
begged  me  to  give  the  money  insteac.  to  the  poor.  This  we 
did.  I  handed  her  the  amount,  with  a  little  added  thereto, 
and  advised  her  to  divide  it  amongst  more  than  one.  We 
met  a  blind  man,  and  she  gave  him  an  alms;  next  was  a 
miserable  child,  and  after  that  a  very  old  woman. 

"  There  we  have  the  Holy  Family  complete,"  I  remarked ; 
and  her  face  lighted  up  at  the  suggestion. 

"  There  are  so  many  poor  people  here !  "  she  said.  "  There 
were  plenty  of  poor  people  in  Ireland  too;  but  I  don't  think 
they  were  quite  as  poor  as  these,  and  the  neighbors  always 
helped  them." 

"The  poverty  of  a  great  city  is  worse,  I  think,"  I  as- 
sented, "  than  it  ever  is  in  country  places." 

"Except  in  the  famine  times,"  said  Winifred.  "Oh  if 
you  heard  Niall  tell  about  the  famine  in  Ireland,  and  how 
some  bad  men  and  women  went  round  trying  to  get  the  people 


ill 

m 


'^i! 


i88  WINIFRED  TELLS  HER  SAME. 

who    were    starving   to   give   up   their    rehgion,    and    they 

wouldn't !  " 

The  child's  eyes  shone  and  her  whole  face  was  aglow  as 

she  cried: 

•  Rather  than  give  up  their  religion  they  died  by  the 
road  eating  grass.     That  was  just  splendid  of  them." 

•■  Always  keep  that  fine  enthusiasm  and  that  tender  heart, 
dear  child,"  said  a  voice. 

We  both  turned  quickly.     I  had  little  need  to  do  so,  for 

I   knew  the  voice.     It  was  Roderick   O'Byrne's.     Winifred 

looked  into  his  face  for  a  moment,  then  she  held  out  her  hand. 

'•  I   don't  often   speak   to   strangers,"   she  declared,   with 

her  princess-like  air,  "but  I  like  you." 

Roderick  O'Byrne's  handsome  face  flushed,  his  lips  parted 
eagerly  as  if  to  speak ;  but  he  restrained  himself  by  a  visible 
effort,  and  said  after  a  pause: 

■•  I  hope  some  day  you  will  like  me  better."  Then  he 
turned  to  me,  .still  holding  Winifred's  hand  in  his  own  strong 
brown  one.  "  Do  not  be  afraid :  I  am  not  going  to  steal  the 
little  one  away,  and  I  am  going  to  be  patient  and  wait.  But 
I  was  walking  behind  you  and  I  heard  the  sweet  voice— the 
voice  so  like  one  I  loved  very  dearly  in  other  days — and  it 
was  too  hard  to  resist:    I  had  to  speak." 

His  voice  took  on  that  tone,  half  boyish,  half  pleading; 
and  I  felt  compelled  to  say: 

"  If  you  are  not  patient,  I  will  have  to  spirit  my  little 
one  away  from  New  York." 

"  Oh,  don't  do  that!  "  he  cried.  "  Let  me  see  her  some- 
times—let me  hear  her  voice,  and  I  won't  ask  a  question. 
See,  I  haven't  even  asked  her  name." 

He  had  come  round  to  my  side,  dropping  his  voice  to  an 
earnest  whisper.     But  the  child  caught  the  last  words. 


WINIFKED  TELLS  HHR  NAME. 


i8g 


"  My  name  is  W'inifrcd,"  she  said  in  answer  to  them. 
"Go.,.1    heavens!"    exclaime,!    R.Hlerick.    tiirninK    .U-a.llv 
pale;   while  I.  ..    -nR  the  child  firmly  by  the  hand,  turned  a 
corner  abruptly  .  A  hastene<l  into  Broa.lway.  where,  as  be- 
fore on  a  similar  oocasion,  I  took  a  cable  car. 

••  An.!  yet  I  have  tried  to  be  true  to  mv  trust."  I  repeated 
over  and  over  to  myself.  "  At  the  risk  of  losing  Ro,lerick's 
fnendsbip,   1  have  refuse<l  to  answer  any  questions." 

"  Oh.  why  did  you  go  and  leave  the  gJntletnan  like  that  >  " 
asked  Winifred,  imperiously,  as  soon  as  we  entered  onr  r<x>ms 
at  the  hotel.  "  Ifs  a  sham.-I  tell  you  it's  a  shame!  "  And 
she  stamped  her  little  foot  on  the  carpet. 

"Winifred!"  I  said  severely.     "You  must  be  careful  I" 

•'  I  don-t  care!  "   she  cried.    "  I  won't  be  g.xi,l  anv  murr. 

It  was  very  impolite  to  run  away  from  that  gentlemar;   and 

I  wanted  to  talk  to  him,  because  I  think  1  knew  him  once, 

or  perhaps  only  dreamul  about  him." 

I  saw  now  that  the  denouement  was  coming  nearer  and 
nearer.  The  matter  was  indeed  being  taken  out  of  mv  hands. 
1  determmed,  however,  that  I  would  be  true  to  Niall;  ami 
that  if  some  news  did  not  soon  come  from  Ireland,  I  should 
remove  the  child  from  New  York  and  go  with  her,  perhaps 
to  Canada.  I  rejoiced  that  the  holidays  were  over  an<l  that 
to-morrow  Winifred  must  return  to  school. 

"  It  may  •  ot  be  for  long,"  I  warned  her;  "  and  then  you 
may  regret  the  advantages  you  hav  had  here.  You  see 
Niall  may  get  too  lonesome  and  send  for  you  any  time  " 

"  I  would  love  to  see  him  and  Granny  and  Father  Owen 
and  the  others!"  she  exclaimed.  •  Sut  if  we  went  awav 
to  Ireland,  I  would  like  the  dark  gentleman  to  come  too. 
Perhaps  he  would  if  you  asked  him." 

"Everything  will  come  right,  I  hope,"  I  answered,  evas- 


I:ilii. 


WlNlfREO  THUS  llliH  SAME. 


ively  "And  I  am  very  Rla.l  you  like  the  .lark  Rcntl  ..an, 
^L.  you  may  sec  him  very  often  when  >.u  are  o     r^ 

.  Do  you  think  so?  "  she  asked  eaRerly.  Oh.  I  sl,all  hkc 
that!    But  are  you  perfectly  sure  of  .t? 

.•I  am  almost  sure  of  it."  I  replied:  and  ^m,  U  m  k 
,H.r  that  the  bell  was  about  to  riuR  for  the  departure  of 
lit^r'!  hurried  away,  for  fear  she  might  begm  to  quesfon 

"*■■  ir/ thafl  had  many  lonely  days  of  anxious  waiting  as 
the  i  n ter  sp.a  drearily  away,    Kebrt.ary  and  then   March 
irew  their  slow  lengths  along,  and  my  letters  -r-  >'     -. 
answered.    April  was  ushered  in.  more  changeable  than  ever 
"I  ngs  of  sunshine  being  followed  by  afternoons  of  ra  n. 

Tnd  day"  "*  '''--^  ""''^"""^^  '"'  ^'"^  ' 
""olly'Twas  sitting  in  my  room  at  the  hotel,  em- 
broSeHn        1  «le.  and  disconsolately  watching  the  U.ong  on 
Broadway  when  there  came  a  knock  at  my  door.    A  bell-boy 
ItereawUh  two  letters  upon  a  salver.     My  heart  gave  a 
"  at    hrob  as  I  seized  them,  recognizing  on  both  the     nsh 
^p^t;':     Broadway,  with  its  throng  of  ^^>^^X 
before  me:   and  I  held  the  two  letters  m  my  hand-readm^ 
th    addles  .  now  on  one,  now  on  the  other,  and  puttmg  off 
he  r^ome"    of  opening  them:    for  I   felt  a  cunous  dread. 
SupporNiall  should  hold  me  to  my  promise  or  sternly  com- 
Id  me  to  bring  Winifred  forthwith  back  to    rdan     w.  h- 
out  even  revealing  her  identity  to  Roderick?    At  'a^*  ^  ™ 
the  seal  of  one  of  the  letters  with  a  hand  that  trembled      I 
had  "control  a  nervous  agitation,  which  almost  prevented 
^e  from  seeing  the  characters  before  me.  as  w.th  a  pale  face. 
I  began  to  read. 


LliTIIMS  .11    r.lST. 


I'ji 


CHAF^TER   XXIV. 


LETTERS   AT    LAST. 


TiiF.  letter  I  had  opened  was.  I  knew,  from  Niall.  I  rc- 
menbered  the  .strange,  crabU-d  charactets,  almost  resenibliii^r 
Arabic,  in  which  he  had  written  my  letter  of  instruction. 

"  The  hills  of  Wicklow-  he  began,  "  arc  streaming  with 
sunlight.  Their  spurs  art  Jl  golden,  and  the  streams  are 
rushing  in  great  gladness,  for  they  are  full  of  joy.  They 
have  beon  freed  from  the  bondage  of  wiiter. 

"  There  is  joy  in  the  hills.  It  is  sou:  ig  in  my  ^ars  and 
m  my  heart.  Words  I  dare  not  spea;.,  daughter  of  the 
stranger!  I  can  not  put  on  paper  the  thoughts  that  are  burn- 
ing in  my  brain.  You  have  found  him,  the  beloved  wanderer; 
and  you  have  discovered  that  his  heart  has  never  wandered' 
from  us.  I  knew  before  now  that  he  was  not  to  blame;  and 
of  that  I  shall  tell  you  some  day,  but  not  now. 

"  Had  I  wings,  I  would  fly  to  Roderick  and  to  mv  beautiful 
httle  lady.  I  love  him,  I  love  her.  My  heart  has  been  soared 
by  her  absence.  Until  your  letter  came,  the  hills  spoke  a 
strange,  new  language,  and  I  have  heard  no  human  speech 
When  your  letter  reached  the  village,  I  was  up  at  mv  cabin 
m  the  hills,  unconscious  of  good  or  evil,  burning  with  fever. 
The  good  Samaritan  found  me  out;  who  he  is  you  can  guess. 
It  was  long,  long  before  my  senses  came  back;  and  he  would 
not  read  me  your  letter  until  I  had  grown  strong.  When  I 
heard  its  contents,  I  feared  even  then  that  my  brain  would 


,gj  LETTERS  AT  LAST. 

turn.  For  two  days  I  roamed  the  mountains  I  fled  to  my 
casern  of  the  Phoul-a-Phooka  for  greater  solitude.  I  could 
not  speak  of  my  joy-I  dared  not  think  of  .t. 

"Xnd  now,  O  daughter  of  the  stranger,  heaven-sent  from 
that  land  afar!  bring  her  back  to  my  heart,  lest  it  break 
with  the  joy  of  this  knowledge,  and  with  sorrow  that  the 
Tea  still  divides  me  from  her,  and  that  other  equally  beloved. 
Si  what  matters  education  now !  Let  the  beaut.f ul  grow 
as  he  flowers  grow,  as  the  trees  shoot  up,  clothed  m  beauty. 
'Come  now  in  all  haste;  and  tell  Roderick  that  on  my 
knees  I  implore  him  to  come  too,  that  I  may  reveal  all.  B.d 
him  hasten  to  Niall,  the  forlorn."  ^    .    .,  .  .    „,m^u 

He  broke  off  abruptly,  with  some  words  m  Irish,  wh.ch, 
of  course,  I  did  not  understand.  My  own  head  was  swim- 
ming; a  great  joy  surged  up  in  my  heart,  and  I  could  almost 
have  echL  Niall's  wild  rhapsody.  When  should  I  see  poor 
Roderick  and  tell  him-what?  I  had  not  yet  made  up  my 
mind  as  to  how  I  should  fulfil  that  delightful  task.  However, 
I  would  write  to  him  that  very  day  and  bid  him  come  to  hear 

the  elad  news.  .      .  , 

I  took  up  the  other  letter,  which  was,  I  doubted  not,  from 
Father  Owen.  Of  course  he  could  add  nothing  to  my  great 
happiness;  still,  it  would  be  of  the  deepest  interest  to  hear 
every  detail  relating  to  this  matter  of  paramount  >n;PO™- 
The  letter  was  just  as  characteristic  as  Nialls  had  been 
and  I  seemed  to  see  the  priest's  genial  face  lighted  up  with 
pleasure,  as  he  wrote,  and  to  hear  his  kindly  voice. 

"  Laus  Deo! "  began  the  letter.  "  What  words  of  joy  or 
praise  can  I  find  to  express  my  own  sentiments  and  those  of 
the  faithful  hearts  whose  long  years  of  waiting  have  been  at 
last  rewarded!  I  took  your  letter  to  Mrs.  Meehan,  and  I  had 
to  use  diplomacv-though  that  was  a  lost  art  with  me,  so 


1' 


LETTERS  At  LAST.  193 

simple  are  my  people  and  my  duties — for  fear  the  shock  mifjlit 
be  too  great.  But  I  don't  think  joy  ever  kills.  I  wish  you 
could  have  seen  her  face — so  tranquil,  so  trusting,  illumined 
with  the  light  of  happiness.  You  can  imagine  the  outburst 
of  her  praise  rising  up  to  the  Creator,  clear  and  strong  as  a 
lark's  at  morning.  Barney  and  Moira  were  only  restrained 
by  my  presence  from  cutting  capers,  and  at  last  I  said  to 
them :  '  Go  out  there  now,  Barney,  my  man,  and  you  too, 
Moira,  my  colleen,  and  dance  a  jig  in  the  courtyard ;  for  I 
am  pretty  sure  your  legs  won't  keep  still  much  longer.' 

"  And  now  of  poor  Niall !  When  your  letter  came  I  went 
in  search  of  him.  No  one  had  seen  him  for  a  good  while, 
and  it  was  supposed  he  had  gone  off  on  some  of  his  wander- 
ings. None  of  the  people  would  venture  near  his  cabin,  so 
I  took  my  stick  in  my  hand,  and  went  there  with  the  letter. 
I  found  the  poor  fellow  in  a  sad  plight — alone,  burning  with 
fever,  delirious,  and  going  over  all  kinds  of  queer  scenes  in 
his  raving :  now  crying  for  'gold,  gold,  gold !'  or  giving  heart- 
piercing  cries  for  Winifred.  Again,  he  would  be  back  in  the 
past,  with  Roderick,  a  boy,  at  his  side. 

"  Well,  there  was  no  one  to  take  care  of  the  creature ; 
and,  as  it  fitted  in  with  my  day's  work,  I  took  care  of  him 
myself.  His  gratitude,  when  he  came  to  consciousness,  was 
touching;  and  yet  I  had  only  followed  the  plainest  dictates 
of  humanity.  When  T  thought  my  patient  was  strong  enough, 
I  read  the  letter  to  him.  Bless  my  soul !  it  was  like  a  whirl- 
wind. He  nearly  took  the  breath  out  of  me,  rushing  from 
the  cabin  in  a  kind  of  madness,  and  leaving  me  sitting  there 
staring  at  the  door  by  which  he  had  gone.  I  did  not  see  him 
for  more  than  a  week,  and  I  assure  you  I  was  anxious.  I 
was  afraid  he  had  lost  his  mind  through  excess  of  joy. 

"To  make  a  long  story  short,  when  he  did  come  back 


,5^  LETTERS  AT  LAST. 

again  I  got  hold  of  him  entirely.  Joy  seems  to  have  changed 
his  nature  as  sunshine  will  purify  a  noisome  spot.  He  is  as 
gentle  and  tractable  as  a  lamb;  and  better  than  all,  his  old 
faith  and  pietv  have  come  back  to  him.  He  goes  to  Mass 
and  the  sacraments.  The  light  of  heaven  seemed  to  flow  m  on 
him  with  your  letter.  His  sorrow  for  the  past  was  like  that 
of  a  child.  I  told  him  not  to  be  disturbed  about  it,  but  just 
go  on  asking  for  mercy,  mercy— only  that  and  nothing  more. 
'  For,'  said  I  to  him,  'my  poor  fellow,  there's  the  eye  of  God 
looking  down;  and  as  it  sees  the  noxious  weed  and  the  fairest 
flower,  so  it  beholds  our  sins  ahd  our  waywardness  as  well 
as  our  virtues.  If  these  weeds  of  sin  are  plucked,  the  flowers 
of  our  virtues  are  just  as  fair  in  His  sight.' 

"  But,  O  dear  lady,  how  the  old  man  sits  and  longs  for  the 
hour  of  reunion!  He  is  out  on  the  hills  when  their  spurs 
are  burnished  gold,  at  the  sunset  hour;  and  he  is  there  at 
the  dawn  waiting  for  the  first  beam  to  light  up  the  Glen  of 
the  Dargle;  he  is  out  in  the  moonlight  watching  it  making 
strange  shapes  out  of  the  trees;  and  all  the  time  with  that 
one  thought  in  his  mind.  He  looks  for  gold  no  more,  because 
he  says  his  love  of  it  was  sinful ;  and  the  only  treasures  he 
seeks  for  now  are  the  faces  of  his  loved  ones.  Do  not  keep 
him  long  waiting,  I  entreat. 

"  Tell  my  pet,  Winifred,  the  robin  is  out  there  now,  busy 
as  ever ;  and  just  bursting  his  breast  with  the  joy  of  coming 
spring.  '  I  am  proud  and  glad  to  hear  of  her  success  at  the 
convent  and  sorry  she  has  to  leave  it  so  soon.  Say  a  prayer 
sometimes  for  the  old  priest  in  far-off  Ireland,  who  soon  will 
be  slipping  away  to  his  rest— but  not,  he  hopes,  till  he  lays 
eyes  on  you  again,  and  thanks  you  for  the  happiness  you  have 
brought  to  him  and  to  the  little  ones  of  his  flock." 

I  sat  there  for  some  time  going  over  these  letters,  altem- 


LETTERS  AT  LAST.  ,95 

ately,  and  delighting  in  the  pictures  which  their  eloquent 
language  evoked.  To  one  thing  I  made  up  my  mind;  I 
should  go  back  to  Ireland  and  be  present  at  the  joyful  meet 
ing.  Indeed,  my  eye  brightened,  my  cheek  glowed  at  the 
thought  of  seeing  again  those  lovely  scenes,  and  of  the 
pleasant  reunion  of  hearts  at  which  I  was  to  be  present.  But 
it  was  my  turn  to  write  a  letter,  or  at  least  a  very  brief  note, 
asking  Roderick  to  come  to  me  as  soon  as  possible.  That 
being  Saturday,  I  thought  I  should  have  to  wait  till  Monday 
for  his  visit. 

Sunday  passed  in  a  feverish  state  of  agitation.  I  was 
going  out  to  supper  in  the  evening,  at  the  very  same  house 
where  I  had  before  met  Roderick,  but  it  was  unlikely  he  would 
be  there  again.  What  was  my  surprise  to  see  his  tall  figure 
standing  near  the  fire  talking  to  our  hostess  I  He  saluted  me 
gravely.  I  thought  he  looked  thin  and  worn ;  but  at  first  he 
did  not  come  near  me :  and  I  feared  he  had  resolved  to  avoid 
me.  As  we  were  all  making  a  move  for  supper,  I  managed 
to  whisper: 

"  I  wrote  you  a  note  yesterday.    Please  promise  to  comply 
with  the  request  I  make  you  in  it." 
He  turned  sharply: 
"  You  wrote  to  me?  "  he  queried. 
"  Yes,"  I  answered. 
"  May  I  ask  about  what?  " 

Though  the  words  were  curt,  Roderick's  tone  was  genial 
and  his  face  smiling. 

"  Merely  asking  you  to  come  to  see  me  to-morrow  even- 
ing— but  your  partner  is  waiting,  you  must  go." 

He  turned  to  the  young  girl  beside  him,  with  an  apology 
for  his  momentary  inattention.  If  his  mind  was  inclined  to 
wander  from  her  to  the  subject  of  my  approaching  communi- 


jgg  LETTERS  AT  LAST. 

cation,  he  was  too  courteous  and  too  accomplished  a  man  of 
L  world  to  let  her  perceive  it.  I  was  ahnos  sor^  ^ad 
spoken,  lest  it  should  spoil  his  supper.  Several  t""«  ^  ^'^ 
hClo;king  at  me;  but  I  only  smiled  and  went  on  talkmg 
Tny  partner,  a  brilliant  lawyer  with  a  great  reputat.on  for 
wit.  Very  soon  after  supper  Roderick  came  over  to  me. 
with  his  usual  ah  lost  boyish  eagerness.  ,   ,        •, 

"What  do  you  want  to  say  to  me?"  he  demanded,  sn-.d- 

'"'..'lwC:-know  I  want  ,o  say  anything?"  I  retorted. 

* 'c'otse  I  know,  and  I  am  going  to  hear  what  it  is. 
too!"   he  cried,  seating  himself  beside  me. 

"Now,  Roderick,"  I  said,  "if  I  were  a  charmmg  young 
lady,  such  as  that  one  you  have  just  left.  I  could  never  res> 
that  face  and  that  voice.     But  as  matters  are    you  11  ,ust 
Le  to  wait  till  1  make  up  my  mind  to  tell  you;    for 
spectacled  eyes  see  without  glamor,  and  gray  ha.rs  give  us 

"^"nriaughed  and  his  face  took  on  a  brighter  look  I  fancy 
that  he  knew  by  my  tone  I  had  good  news  to  tell. 

-I  won't  go  to  see  you  on  Monday  night."  he  declared. 
"  unless  you  give  me  a  hint.'  _ 

"  Well,  I  will  give  you  a  hint,  and  then  yo-'  needn  t  come 

to  see  me." 

"  That  is  unkind."  . 

"No;  it  would  only  be  giving  you  trouble  for  nothmg. 
•I he  substance  of  what  I  have  to  say  to  you  is  this:  that  you 
must  take  a  trip  to  Ireland  very  soon." 

"Alone?" 

"  Yes,  alone." 

"And  when  I  get  there?" 


LETTERS  AT  LAST. 


«97 


'You'll  be  glad  you  went." 

He  pondered  deeply,  for  some  moments. 

"Isn't  this  very  like  a  fool's  errand?"    he  inquired. 

"Which  is  the  fool,  he  who  goes  or  she  who  sends?"  I 
replied,  mischievously. 

"Can  you  ask?"  he  laughed.  "A  man  is  nearly  always 
a  fool  when  he  does  a  woman's  errand." 

"But,  seriously,  you  will  go?" 

He  tiiought  a  little  longer. 

"I  will,"  he  answered,  "if  you  will  only  promise  me  one 
thing." 

"What  is  that?" 

j'  That  there  will  be  an  end  of  all  this  mystification." 
"  I  promise  you  that,  most  solemnly,"  I  answered.    "  Once 
on  Irish  soil,  you  shall  know  everything." 

"Tell  me  now,"  he  said,  with  sudden  eagerness,  "how 
is  Winifred,  asthore?" 

There  was  a  world  of  feeling  in  his  voice,  though  he  came 
out  with  the  epithet  laughingly. 

"  Well  and  happy,"  I  assured  him. 
"  Will  you  give  her  something  from  me?  " 
"I'm  not  so  sure,"  I  said,  jestingly;    "for  you've  qi 
won  her  heart  already.    She  talks  of  nothing  but  the  'dark 
gentleman.' " 

A  glow  of  pleasure  lit  up  his  face. 
"And  now,  what  is  it  you  want  me  to  give  her?" 
He  took  a  small  box  from  his  waistcoat  pocket.     It  was 
the  prettiest  little  ring,  with  a  green  stone  in  the  center. 

"  The  color  of  hope— the  color  of  Ireland,"  Roderick  ob- 
served. 

"A  good  omen,"    I  said,  looking  at  the  gem,  where  it 
lay  sparkling  in  the  wadding. 


198 


LETTERS  AT  LAST. 


"  You  will  give  that  to  Winifred  from  her  unknown  friend," 
Roderick  said. 

"  She  will  be  delighted— though,  you  know,  of  course,  she 
will  not  be  allowed  to  wear  it  in  the  convent." 

"  Ah,  she  is  in  a  convent! "  he  exclaimed.  "  But  in  any 
case,  let  her  keep  it  as  a  reminder  of  me." 

I  thought  as  I  watched  him  that  if  Winifred  so  closely 
resembled  her  dead  mother,  she  was  also  like  her  father.  His 
face  was  as  mobile  and  expressive  as  hers,  allowing  always 
for  the  mask  which  the  years  are  sure  to  put  over  every  human 
countenance. 

"  You  fancy  there  is  a  resemblance  in  this  girl  to  your 
dead  wife?" 

"  I  know  there  is  a  resemblance  to  Winifred's  dead 
mother,"  he  answered. 

I  was  silent  though  I  had  little  reason  for  concealment 
henceforth. 

"  How  cruel  you  have  been  all  this  time,"  he  exclaimed, 
as  he  watched  me ;   "I  think  it  comes  natural  to  your  sex." 
"  Don't  revile  our  stx   for  the   faults  of  your  own,"   I 
answered.     "But  tell  me  more  about  your  dead  wife." 

His  face  changed  and  softened.  Then  a  look  came  over 
it— a  look  of  tender  remembrance,  which  did  him  credit. 

"  She  was  very  beautiful,"  he  began,  "  at  least  I  thought 
so.  I  met  her  when  she  was  only  fifteen.  She  was  the  image 
of  what  Winifred  is  now,  only  her  beauty  was  more  pro- 
nounced, and  she  had  a  haughtier  air.  I  never  forgot  her 
from  that  moment.  When  she  was  eighteen,  we  were  mar- 
ried. She  was  only  twenty-four  when  she  died,  but  I  re- 
member her  still  as  vividly — " 

He  .stopped,  as  though  the  subje'-  were  too  painful,  and 
then  resumed,  half  dreamily: 


LETTERS  AT  LAST.  ,„ 

"I  am  going  to  tell  you  now  what  will  lend  an  added 
value  to  that  little  trinket  I  have  given  you  for  Winifred." 
He  paused  again,  and  drew  a  deep  breath,  looking  at  me 
hard.  "  It  belonged  to— to  my  wife,  when  she  was  a  child 
of  Winifred's  age.  Winifred  will  prize  it,  because  it  was- 
her mother's." 

I  stood  up,  and  Roderick,  rising  also,  confronted  me. 
"  Can  you  deny  it  ?  "    he  asked  defiantly. 
I  was  silent. 

"  Pray  what  is  the  object  of  further  secrecy?  "  he  pleaded. 
"  Tell  me,  is  not  Winifred  my  child,  the  child  of  my  dead 
wife?" 

I  bowed  my  head  in  assent.  Concealment  was  neither 
useful  nor  desirable  any  longer. 

The  look  of  triumph,  of  exaltation,  of  joy,  which  swept 
over  his  face  was  good  to  see. 

"But  you  will  wait?"  I  pleaded,  in  my  return.  "  Yoi. 
will  go  to  Ireland,  as  agreed,  and  your  child  shall  be  all  your 
own  entirely  and  forever?" 

"  I  will  wait,"  he  answered  quietly,  "  though  it  is  hard." 

And  then  we  shook  hands  and  parted.    I  felt  that  I  must 

hurry  away:    for  I  could  not  go  on  talking  of  commonplace 

subjects,  either  to  Roderick  or  to  any  of  the  others.     As  I 

took  leave  of  our  hostess  she  said,  laughingly: 

"  You  and  Mr.  O'Byrne  were  quite  melodramatic,  stand- 
mg  over  there  a  few  moments  ago." 

I  laughed,  but  I  did  not  give  her  any  information.  When 
I  got  home  I  wrote  to  Niall,  telling  him  that  in  a  month  or 
two  at  furthest  I  would  bring  Winifred  back,  but  that  I 
wanted  to  show  her  a  little  of  the  American  continent  before 
takmg  her  home.  On  my  next  visit  to  the  convent,  I  did  not 
say  a  word  to  the  child-I  was  afraid  it  would  unsettle  her 


•I  If 


200  LETTERS  AT  LAST. 

for  her  schcx)l-work,  but  I  informed  her  teachers  that  it 
would  be  necessary  to  withdraw  her  before  tlie  expiration  of 
the  term.  After  the  trip  which  I  intended  to  take  with  her 
to  Niagara  and  a  few  other  points  of  interest,  I  determined 
to  cross  the  ocean  once  more  and  bring  Winifred  safely  back 
to  Niall.  I  should  let  Roderick  sail  by  the  Cunard  line,  while 
'we  would  take  passage  by  the  White  Star  line,  so  that  our 
arrival  would  be  almost  simultaneous. 

I  presented  Winifred  with  her  ring,  though  at  the  time 
I  did  not  tell  her  it  had  been  her  mother's.  She  was  more 
than  delighted,  as  I  had  foreseen,  and  put  it  at  once  upon 
her  finger.  She  was  vexed,  and  indulged  in  one  of  her  childish 
outbursts  of  petulance,  when  I  explained  to  her  that  wearing 
it  was  against  the  rules.  She  had  to  be  content  with  keeping 
it  where  she  could  look  at  it,  very  often.  She  sent  a  very 
pretty  message  to  Roderick. 

"  Tell  him,"  she  said,  "  I  remember  him  when  the  birds 
sing,  when  the  organ  plays,  when  the  sun  shines— whenever 
there  is  happiness  in  my  heart" 


HOME  AGAIN. 


CHAPTER   XXV. 


HOME   AGAIN. 


The  next  few  weeks  were  full  of  the  bustle  of  preparation. 
When  I  told  Winifred  she  was  to  leave  the  convent  before 
the  end  of  the  term,  and,  after  a  few  weeks  of  travel  to 
return  to  Ireland,  she  seemed  fairly  dazed  at  the  unexpected 
news. 

"  Her  education,  of  course,  will  have  to  be  continued," 
I  thought;    "but  hardly  in  an  American  convent." 

One  May  morning  Winifred  took  leave  of  her  teaci.ers 
and  school  friends,  and  we  set  out  direct  for  Niagara  When 
we  reached  the  Falls,  she  was  for  a  time  wholly  lost  in  wonder 
The  stupendous  mass  of  falling  water  seemed  to  produce 
upon  the  little  girl  a  curious  impression  of  bewilderment 

"Oh,  it  is  grand,  grand!"  she  said.  "This  America  is 
a  wonderful  place." 

Winifred  and  I  had,  as  it  were,  a  surfeit  of  beauty;  and 
so  by  the  afternoon  our  exclamations  of  wonder  and  delight 
became  exhausted,  and  we  could  only  look  out  upon  the  lovely 
and  varied  panorama  in  silence.  But  we  were  roused  to  ex- 
citement as  the  afternoon  sun  began  to  take  a  downward  slope 
and  we  neared  the  far-famed  Rapids.  The  passengers  braced 
themselves  as  if  for  certain  danger  (though  in  reality  there 
IS  comparatively  little)  as  the  steamer  rushed  into  the  great 


V 


1 , 


r. 


,oa  HOME  AGAIN. 

masses  of  foaming  water  with  a  lurch  and  a  bound  that  sent 
a  tingle  to  every  nerve.  Onward  she  dashed,  the  speed  seem- 
ing to  become  more  terrific  as  we  descended  the  river  in 
the  direction  of  Montreal.  It  is  a  thrilling,  though  delightful, 
experience.  As  for  Winifred,  she  seemed  to  enjoy  the  situa- 
tion thoroughly.  Not  a  shade  of  alarm  crossed  her  face, 
while  many  of  the  older  passengers  were  visibly  agitated. 
From  the  steamer's  deck  wc  took  a  last  glimpse  of  the  city, 
lying  golden  in  the  sunset,  with  the  figure  of  Our  Udy  of 
Good  Help  on  the  tower  of  Bbnsecours  church,  stretching 
wide  its  arms  in  benediction  over  the  great  river  which  Cartier 
discovered. 

At  dawn  we  were  nearing  Quebec,  and  rushed  out  of 
our  cabins  for  a  first  sight  of  the  Gibraltar  of  America.  We 
flew  past  Levis,  Sillery,  and,  rounding  Cape  Diamond,  sud- 
denly beheld  the  ancient  walls,  the  colossal  rock  crowned  by 
the  citadel,  with  Lower  Town,  squalid  if  picturesque,  at  its 
feet.  Landing,  Winifred  and  I  took  a  caUche  to  the  Chateau 
Frontenac,  where  we  breakfasted. 

Recrossing  the  American  borders,  we  made  a  short  trip 
through  the  White  Mountain  region,  exulting  in  those  glor- 
ious scenes.  At  New  York  we  rested  a  day  or  two  in  our 
old  quarters,  and  did  a  good  deal  of  shopping;  for  had  we 
not  Granny  and  Niall  and  Father  Owen  to  think  of,  not  to 
speak  of  Barney  and  Moira,  the  landlord  of  the  inn,  and 
other  Wicklow  notables?     No  one  was  to  be  forgotten. 

After  this  we  went  into  Pennsylvania,  one  of  the  most 
wonderful  of  all  the  States,  and  crossed  the  far-famed  Horse- 
shoe bend  in  the  Alleghanies.  Winifred  looked  fearlessly  down 
into  the  vast  chasm  and  saw  with  composure  the  end  of  our 
train  on  the  other  side  of  the  ravine,  it  was  a  sight  upon 
which  few  could  look  unmoved.    We  saw  something  of  the 


HOME  AGAIN. 


M3 


wonders  of  the  mining  and  coal  districts,  and  the  beauty  of 
the  Delaware  and  Lehigh. 

We  continued  our  breathHss  journey  to  Wa<ihington, 
where  we  remained  a  few  day.  to  rest.  It  is  a  bcaiitif.:!  city, 
refreshing  to  mind  and  body,  though  somewhat  warm  at  that 
season  of  the  year;  but  its  noble  dwellings,  its  public  monu- 
ments, surpassed  and  overtopped  by  the  Capitol,  have  a 
wonderful  charm. 

One  evening  we  were  strolling  along  in  the  very  shadow 
of  that  classic  pile  when  Winifred  said; 

"Barney  and  Moira  will  think  I've  been  in  fairyland  if 
I  tell  them  half  of  all  I  have  seen ;  but  I  love  dear  Ireland 
best,  after  all." 

"We  shall  sail  from  New  York  by  the  next  White  Star 
liner,"  I  observed  presently:  and  I  thought  within  myself: 
"  Roderick  will  be  sailing  by  the  Cunarder.  It  will  be  a  race 
which  shall  reach  Liverpool  first." 

By  an  odd  coincidence,  ai  I  thought  thtis,  Winifred  was 
turning  round  upon  her  finger  the  ring  which  Roderick  had 
sent  her. 

"I  should  like  to  have  seen  him,"  she  said,  pointing  to 
the  ring,  "  and  thanked  him  for  this.  I  suppose  I  shall  never 
see  him  again.  I  have  a  strange  fancy  that  I  saw  him  long 
ago,  and  that  he  is—"  she  hesitated—  "  that  he  is  the  dark 
gentleman  who  was  angry  with  the  lady  in  yellow,"  she  con- 
cluded, slowly. 

"  Dreaming  again,  Winifred !  "  I  said. 

"  This  is  not  dreaming,"  she  corrected ;  "  for  sometimes  I 
am  almost  sure  it  is  true,  and  that  he  is  the  same  one— only 
I  have  never  seen  him  angry." 

"  Perhaps  the  dark  gentleman  was  not  so  very  angry  even 
then,"  I  suggested,  to  divert  her  thoughts  from  Roderick. 


Hf  HOME  AGAIN. 

"  Perhaps  not,"  »he  said  reflectively ;  "but  I  think  he  was." 

"  Your  father — for  the  gentleman  you  sijcak  of  was,  I 
sr       se,  your  father — was  devotedly  attached  to  your  mother." 

"  Was  he  ?  "  inquired  Winifred,  simply. 

"  Yes,  indeed :  he  thought  her  the  most  beautiful  creature 
in  the  world." 

"  I'm  glad  of  that,"  Winifred  said ;  and,  in  that  fashion 
of  hers  which  so  constantly  reminded  me  of  her  father,  she 
turned  away  from  the  subject. 

On  Saturday  morning  early  we  were  on  hoard  the  great 
steamer,  in  all  the  bustle  of  departure;  and  after  a  pleasant 
voyage  we  arrived  at  Liverpool  on  schedule  time,  as  the 
guidebooks  say,  and  installed  ourselves  for  the  night  at  a 
comfortable  hotel.  Next  day  we  set  forth  to  see  whatever 
this  smoky  city  of  industry  has  to  show.  We  were  passing 
along  one  of  the  smokiest  and  narrowest  of  streets  when 
Winifred  suddenly  pulled  my  arm. 

"  Did  you  see  him  ?  "   she  cried  excitedly. 

"  Who?  "  I  inquired,  though  I  partly  guessed — ^being  fully 
prepared  to  see  Roderick  O'Byrne  in  Liverpool. 

Winifred  touched  the  ring  on  her  finger  to  show  whom 
she  meant. 

"  It  may  have  been  only  a  chance  resemblance,"  I  observed 
evasively. 

"  It  was  he,"  she  declared  decisively,  and  her  eyes  sparkled 
with  excitement.  "  Oh,  I  am  so  glad !  "  she  went  on.  "  We 
must  find  him.    I  want  to  thank  him  for  the  ring." 

"  It  will  be  impossible  to  find  him  in  this  crowd,"  I 
answered. 

She  pointed  to  a  shop. 

"  He  is  in  there,"  she  cried,  "  and  I  must  see  him  I  If 
you  do  not  come  with  me,  I  will  go  myself." 


HOUE  AGAIN. 


of  her  old  impetuosity,  urfpng  on  my  re- 


is 


She  was  full 
luctant  steps. 

"  One  thing  that  I  want  to  ask  him."  she  went  on, 
wliether  he  knew  the  beautiful  lady  in  yellow." 

When  we  reached  the  shop  door,  Roderick  stood  just  in- 
side; and  I  almost  fancied  he  had  stepped  in  there  to  avoid 
us.  knowing  that  I  did  not  wish  for  a  premature  dhiouemcnl 
of  the  little  plot.  However,  his  face  also  wore  an  eager  ex- 
pression, and  it  lighted  as  Winifred  confronted  him.  He 
opened  the  door  and  came  out  onto  the  pavement,  looking  at 
me  for  directions.  I  put  my  finger  to  my  lips,  signifying 
that  he  must  not  as  yet  disclose  himself. 

"  I  want  to  thank  you  for  this  ring,  with  its  lovely  green 
stone,"  she  said. 

"  It's  only  a  trifle,  little  one,"  Roderick  replied  lightly. 

''  I  was  so  sorry  when  I  thought  I  should  never  see  vou 
again,"  Winifred  cried,  impetuously. 

"Were  you?"  asked  Roderick,  with  an  unsteadiness  in 
h.s  voice  which  caused  me  to  give  him  a  warning  look. 

"  Yes,  because  I  was  leaving  America  forever.  And  one 
thing  I  wanted  to  ask  you  so  much  was,  if  you  rempmbered 
the  beautiful  lady  in  yellow     I  have  been  so  anxious  to  know  " 

She  looked  up  into  his  face  with  her  great,  starlike  eves- 
and  he  gazed  at  her  in  return. 

"Do  I  remember  the  beautiful  lady  in  vellow?"  he  re- 
peated. "  As  I  hope  for  heaven,  yes,  and  never  shall  I  foriret 
her  while  I  live  I  " 

The  answer,  however,  was  given  in  an  undertone,  which 
she  did  not  catch. 

"  Because  if  you  knew  her,"  went  on  Winifred  "  I  xvas 
going  to  ask  if  you  were  the  dark  gentleman  who  slammed 
the  door?" 


aa6 


HOME  AGAIN. 


"  I'm  afraid  I  was,"  he  whispered  in  my  ear.  "  How  our 
misdeeds  do  follow  us,  and  what  a  memory  the  little  one 
has!  I  had  had  a  dispute  with  some  one  very  dear  to  me 
about  going  to  the  old  place  in  Wicklow.  She,  poor  girl, 
had  no  wish  to  see  the  'ruin,'  as  sha  called  it.  I  lost  my 
temper,  and  so  came  about  the  little  scene  Winifred  remembers 
and  describes." 

Turning  to  Winifred,  he  asked: 

"  Now,  why  do  you  think  I  could  do  such  a  naughty  thing 
as  slam  a  door?" 

Winifred  was  confused.  Her  natural  politeness  prevented 
her  from  replying. 

"Am  I  so  very  fierce-looking  or  so  violent?"  Roderick 
resumed;  for  he  was  in  high  spirits  and  ready  to  carry  the 
mystery  further. 

"It  isn't  that,"  answered  Winifred ;  "only  you  look  like  him." 
"Look  like  a  gentleman  that  got  angry  and  slammed  a 
door?"    he  said  in  the  same  jesting  tone.     "Now,  that  is 
too  bad  of  you^altogether." 

His  bright,  laughing  face  and  sunny  manner  mystified  the 
child  even  more  than  his  words. 

"  Never  mind,"  he  went  on ;  "I  forgive  you  this  time, 
but  you  must  really  try  to  get  up  a  better  opinion  of  me.  I 
must  go  now,  but  we  shall  meet  again,  and  it  won't  be  over 
the  seas  either.  I  am  going  to  hear  more  about  that  un- 
civil dark  gentleman  who  frightened  a  dear  little  girl." 

"  He  was  cross,  too,  to  the  lady,"  said  Winifred,  rather 
defiantly;    for  she  was  vexed  somewhat  by  his  jesting. 

"  Well,  I  am  sure  he  was  sorry  enough  for  that  after- 
ward," said  Roderick,  with  a  sudden  clouding  of  his  face — 
"  as  we  are  always  sorry  for  our  fits  of  ill-temper.  Remember 
that,  my  child." 


HOME  AGAIN.  ^^ 

He  waved  his  hand  in  farewell,  an.l  Winifred  stood  look- 
ing after  him. 

"  I  am  glad  we  arc  going  to  see  him  again,"  she  observed- 
though,  with  the  implicit  faith  of  childhood,  she  did  not  ask 
when  or  where. 

When  we  had  got  back  to  the  hotel  she  talked  chiefly  of 
Granny  and  Niall,  of  Father  Owen,  and  of  her  humble  friends 
Barney  and  Moira ;  and  could  scarcely  wait  for  the  night  to 
be  over  and  morning  to  come  that  we  might  set  out  for  the 
scenes  of  her  childhood. 

The  most  impatiently  longed-for  morrow  comes  at  last 
It  was  a  gray,  lowering  day  when  we  left  Liverpool.  Before 
quittmg  the  hotel,  a  box  of  candy  was  handed  to  Winifred 
When  she  opened  it  there  was  a  card  upon  which  was 
written : 

"  From  the  man  that  looks  like  the  naughty  dark  gentle- 
man who  slammed  the  door." 

It  seemed  as  if  it  must  be  a  dream  when  we  drove  in  a 
hired  car  from  Dublin  once  more  to  the  Glen  of  the  Dargle 
I  had  wntten  to  the  landlord  of  the  neighboring  inn  to  have 
our  rooms  in  readiness.  And  there  he  was  at  his  door,  stony- 
visaged  and  reticent;  but  the  stone  was  furrowed  by  a  broad 
smile  as  he  helped  us  from  the  car. 

"  Welcome  back,  ma'am !  And  welcome  to  you  too  Miss 
Winifred  alanna !  " 

Winifred  shook  him  cordially  by  the  hand;  and  turned 
with  a  cry  of  joy  to  where  Moira  stood,  red  in  the  redness 
of  the  dying  sun  which  shone  out  through  a  mist-for  the 
weather  had  been  uncertain  all  that  day;  and  red,  too  with 
a  new  shyness,  which  caused  her  to  stand  plucking  at  her 
apron.  Barney  kept  urging  her  forward,  but  was  not  much 
more  confident  himself. 


208 


HOME  AGAIN. 


Winifred's  greeting  to  them  was  good  to  hear.  And  she 
wound  up  by  the  flattering  assurance: 

"You'll  think  I'm  a  real  fairy  this  time  when  you  see 
my  trunks  open  to-morrow." 

It  was  some  time,  however,  before  that  pair  of  rustic 
tongues  were  unloosed  and  they  began  to  chatter  away  like 
magpies.  After  a  little  while  Winifred  proposed  a  nm ;  and 
off  they  all  flew,  the  young  traveler,  in  spite  of  the  fatigue  of 
her  journey,  leading  in  the  race.  Her  curls,  which  had  grown 
longer  in  her  absence,  formed  a  cloud  about  her  head. 

"  Father  Owen  bid  me  tell  you  he  was  off  for  a  sick-call, 
down  to  Enniskerry  below  there ;  but  he'd  be  back  in  an  hour's 
time,  and  you'll  see  him  as  quick  as  he  comes,"  said  the  landlord. 

"  It's  good  to  get  back  again,"  I  said,  seating  myself  on 
the  familiar  bench  at  the  door,  and  letting  my  eyes  wander 
over  the  lovely  scenes — the  blossoming  trees,  the  gold  of  the 
laburnum,  and  the  whole  sweetened  by  the  pervading  fragrance 
of  the  hawthorn. 

"  We're  proud  to  have  you  with  us,  ma'am,"  the  landlord 
declared.     "We  thought  the  time  long  since  you  left." 

The  "we"  referred  to  his  better  half,  who,  however,  rarely 
left  the  kitchen,  and  with  whom  I  had  not  exchanged  half  a 
dozen  words. 

"  I  don't  think  I'll  ever  go  away,  again,"  I  said ;  "  so  you 
may  just  as  well  arrange  my  rooms  accordingly.  And  now 
what  of  the  schoolmaster?" 

"  They  tell  me,"  he  said,  speaking  in  a  confidential  under- 
tone, "  that  Father  Owen  exorcised  him — took  off  of  him 
some  spell  that  the  'good  people'  had  laid  upon  him,  forcing 
him  to  wander  night  and  day — and  scatterin'  his  wits." 

"  At  any  rate,  Niall  of  the  hills  has  changed  his  ways,  I 
hear,"  said  I. 


HOME  AGAIN. 


a09 


"Well,  so  they  tell  me:  though  there  are  them  that  met 
him  wan.lcrln'  still  on  the  hills.  But  sure  niehbe  the  poor 
daft  crathure  was  only  takin'  the  air  by  moonlight." 

"And  Granny  Meehan?"    I  inquired. 

"  Oh,  she's  to  the  fore!  And  it's  her  ould  heart  that'll  he 
rejoiced  entirely  by  your  return,  not  to  speak  of  her  colleen." 

At  that  moment  Winifred  entered,  with  P.arnev  and  Moira 
thrown  into  the  background  by  Father  Owen  liinisclf.  who 
held  his  little  favorite  by  the  hand. 

"A  hundred  thousand  welcomes!"  cried  the  priest,  ex- 
tending his  unoccupied  hand  to  me.  "  So  vou  have  brought 
us  back  the  old  Winifred,  with  a  new  varnish  upon  her  that 
shines  from  afar.  God  be  praised  that  we're  all  here  to 
greet  you !  " 

The  landlord,  with  an  exclamation  at  their  dilatorincss  in 
serving  supper,  entered  the  inn,  while  rather  Owen  and  I 
moved  apart  for  a  few  moments.  I  wanted  to  tell  him  that 
Roderick  would  arrive  in  a  day  or  two. 

"Thanks  be  to  God!"  he  ejaculated.  "Oh,  what  joy 
you  have  brought  upon  the  old  house— vo»,  under  God '  It 
is  a  privilege  thus  to  make  others  happv-the  sweetest  left 
us  since  the  fall  of  Adam.  But  now  I  mustn't  keep  ^ou  from 
your  supper.  We'll  have  many  a  long  chat  in  the  davs  to 
come,  and  I  just  wanted  to  welcome  you.  I  suppose  you'll 
go  up  this  evening  to  Granny  and  Niall  ?  " 

"Indeed  I  will.  But  is  Niall  at  the  castle?"  I  asked. 
"  He  is.  Granny  will  tell  you  all,"  he  answered. 
And  what  a  supper  that  was  in  the  pleasant  inn  parlor 
with  the  blossoming  trees  peeping  in  at  the  windows  and 
the  Irish  robins  singing  our  welcome!  How  savorv  tasted 
the  trout  from  the  stream,  fresh-caught:  and  the  ra'^hcr  nf 
bacon,   with   snow-white   oaten   cake,   the    freshest   of   fresh 


210  HOME  AGAIN. 

butter,  and  thick  cream  for  our  tea!  What  a  walk  we  had 
up  through  the  hills  that  lovely  evening!  Winifred's  eyes 
were  full  of  tears  as  I  recalled  to  her  memory  the  first  time 
she  had  brought  me  to  the  castle. 

"  Isn't  it  strange  to  think  of  all  that  has  passed  since 
then ! "    she  whispered,  in  a  voice  full  of  emotion. 

But  though  changes  there  had  been,  there  were  none  in 
the  hills.  They  preserved  their  immortal  beauty,  and  the 
Glen  of  the  Dargle  was  as  fairy-like  as  ever  in  its  loveliness. 
At  the  castle,  too,  all  was  the  same.  Granny  sat  calm  and 
motionless  by  the  great  hearth,  as  though  she  were  under  a 
spell;  and  Brown  Peter  mewed  and  purred  about  her  as  of 
old.  When  we  entered  the  room  she  rose  uncertainly  from 
her  chair.  Her  voice  was  plaintive  and  tremulous  with  the 
depth  of  emotion  as  she  cried  out: 

"Winifred  alanna,  is  it  yourself  that's  in  it?" 
Presently  the  child  was  clasped  in  her  arms ;   and  I  stood 
by,  content  to  be  forgotten.    At  last  I  isked : 
"Where  is  Niall?" 

"  Barney  will  bring  you  to  him,"  said  the  blind  woman. 
After  a  moment  he  led  us  to  that  very  hall  where  the 
gfame  of  chess  had  been  played  on  the  silver  chessboard  for 
the  hand  of  a  fair  lr,dy.  Here  Niall  had  established  himself, 
■  anJ  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  tall  figure  walking  up  and  down. 
I  remained  without,  and  sent  Winifred  in  alone.  I  heard 
one  inarticulate  cry  of  joy,  and  then  I  walked  away  to  a 
distant  end  of  the  corridor,  leaving  the  two  together  for  a 
while.  When  I  returned  and  entered  the  hall,  I  found  Niall 
seated  in  a  high-backed  armchair,  like  some  king  of  olden 
days.  Winifred  was  upon  her  knees  beside  him,  leaning  her 
bead  on  his  arm.  He  h  Id  out  his  hand  to  me,  and  I  was 
struck  by  his  altered  expression.    Scarce  a  trace  of  its  former 


HOME  AGAIN.  3,, 

wildness  remained;  and  his  face  shone  with  a  deep  content, 
a  radiating  joy. 

"Daughter  of  the  stranger,"  he  said,  "you  are  one  of 
us  forever!  Whether  your  home  be  here  amongst  our  hills 
or  the  stormy  sea  divides  us,  it  matters  nothing." 

"  It  is  my  intention  to  stay  here,"  I  announced,  "  amongst 
your  lovely  scenes,  and  with  you  all,  who  have  come  so  in- 
timately into  my  lonely  life," 


RODERICK  RUTURNS. 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 


RODERICK  RETURNS,   AND   ALL'S    WELL   THAT   ENDS   WELL. 


The  great  day  of  Roderick's  home-coming  dawned;  and 
a  glorious  one  it  was,  as  if  Nature  were  in  harmony  with 
our  joy.  The  birds  sang  a  perfect  chorus  in  the  early  morn- 
ing; the  blossoming  trees  never  smelled  so  sweet,  the  hills 
never  blended  light  and  shade  more  exquisitely,  nor  the 
streams  reflected  a  bluer  sky,  than  when  the  car  containing 
Roderick  O'Byrne  drove  up  to  the  inn.  He  sprang  out  with 
a  boyish  lightness. 

"  Mr.  Roderick  O'Byrne,"  I  exclaimed,  "  Nature  is  singing 
a  perfect  hymn  for  your  home-coming !  " 

"  My  heart  is  singing  too,"  he  replied.  "  All  I  love  are 
here  before  me." 

When  we  had  cordially  shaken  hands,  I  said  to  hin: 

"  Now  be  very  practical  and  prosaic.  Come  in  and  have 
something  to  eat." 

"  Oh,  I  couldn't !  "  he  cried.    "  Let  us  go  at  once  to  them." 

I  saw  his  eyes  wandering  round  in  search  of  Winifred. 

"  Control  your  impatience  just  a  little  while  longer,"  I 
observed,  "and  take  a  sensible  meal." 

"  More  mystifications,  more  delays,  O  woman  of  many 
mysteries !  " 

"  Only  one,"  I  explained.  "  I  want  you  and  Winifred  to 
meet  in  the  Dargle ;  though  she  will  probably  think  you  have 
been  evolved  from  the  ground  by  one  of  her  favorite  fairies." 

He  laughed. 

"  If  it  is  your  whim,  I  must  submit ;    for  you  have  been 


RODERICK  RETURNS.  3,3 

the  goddess  behind  the  machine  from  the  first.    Continue  to 
manage  us  puppets  as  you  will." 

"Only  for  to-day,"  I  replied  merrily;  "after  that  I  shall 
disclaim  all  power  over  you." 

He  followed  me  into  the  inn  parlor,  where  the  table  was 
laid  out;  and,  having  taken  a  slight  repast,  was  eager  to  be 
up  and  away  once  more.  I  had  not  told  the  landlord  who 
my  guest  was,  lest  any  hint  of  his  advent  should  prematurely 
get  abroad;  but  I  saw  the  worthy  man  shading  his  eyes  with 
his  hand  and  peering  at  him,  now  coming  to  the  door  and 
now  retreating.  At  last,  as  we  rose  from  table,  he  burst  in 
upon  us. 

"  Ah,  then,  Master  Roderick,  is  it  yourself  that's  in  it !  " 
And  he  fell  to  laughing  almost  hysterically  as  he  seized  and 
wrung  the  outstretched  hand,  which  Roderick,  quick  to 
respond  to  any  touch  of  genuine  feeling,  extended.  He  called 
the  man  by  name,  and  began  to  recall  many  a  pleasant  in- 
cident of  boyhood's  days.  The  delight  of  mine  host  of  the 
stony  visage  all  but  drew  tears  from  my  eyes.  We  enjoined 
secrecy  upon  him;  and  then  Roderick  and  I  set  oflf  for  the 
Dargle,  where  I  had  bidden  Winifred  to  wait  for  me. 

"  It  is  a  lovely  spot  for  such  a  meeting,"  I  observed  to 
Roderick  as  we  went. 

"  Lovely  indeed,"  he  answered.  "  My  eyes  have  hungered 
for  a  sight  of  it  these  ten  years." 

We  walked  on  in  silence  toward  it;  Roderick  taking  off 
his  hat  that  the  breeze  might  blow  through  his  hair,  and 
drmkmg  in  the  beauty  around  us  with  visible  gratification. 
"  An  exile's  heart  never  warms  in  the  land  of  the  stranger  " 
Roderick  declared  presently.  "  There's  something  in  the  native 
air  that  gladdens  the  soul." 

"  Now,"  I  said,  as  we  entered  the  beautiful  glen,  with 


314 


RODERICK  RETURNS. 


its  atmosphere  of  poetry,  its  softened,  delicate  loveliness, 
"  here  it  was  I  first  met  Winifred,  and  here  she  shall  meet 
you,  and  you  can  tell  your  tale  your  own  way." 

I  had  arranged  matters  a  little  melodramatically;  Wini- 
fred unconsciously  added  to  the  effect  by  taking  her  seat 
upon  her  favorite  tree,  and,  out  of  the  pure  gladness  of  her 
heart,  singing  a  wild  song  full  of  trills  and  quavers  like  the 
notes  of  a  bird.  I  slipped  away  among  the  trees,  and  pre- 
sently Roderick  spoke.    His  voice  was  soft  and  tender: 

"Winifred  asthore  niachreel" 

Winifred  looked  at  him  long  and  strangely  for  a  few 
seconds,  then  she  abandoned  her  perilous  perch  ar- '  came 
running  down  to  him  swift  as  a  bird  upon  the  wing.  Nature 
was  speaking  very  loud  in  her  heart.  Roderick  stood  wait- 
ing for  her,  holding  out  both  his  hands.  He  took  her  slender 
ones  and  held  them,  looking  at  her  with  a  long,  long  look  of 
tender  affection ;  then,  releasing  his  right  hand,  he  took  from 
his  watch  chain  a  locket  and  opened  it.  Within,  I  learned 
I  'er,  was  a  beautiful  miniature  on  ivory.  Winifred  gave  a 
swift,  startled  cry  of  joy: 

"  The  lady  in  yellow — oh,  it  is  the  beautiful  lady !  " 

"  And  I  am  the  dark  gentleman,  my  little  one,"  Roderick 
whispered.    "  Do  you  know  who  he  was  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Winifred,  looking  up  into  his  face :  "  he  was 
my  father." 

"  Have  you  forgiven  him  for  being  cross  and  slamming 
the  door  ?  " 

She  nodded  gravely. 

"  And  are  you  going  to  love  him — to  love  me  very  much  ?  " 

For  answer,  Winifred  threw  her  arms  round  his  neck, 
weeping  for  very  joy. 

At  that  moment  I  left  them,  and  they   followed  slowlv 


RODERICK  RETURNS.  315 

up  to  the  castle,  Winifred  clinging  to  her  father's  arm  and 
telling  him  how  she  had  loved  him  almost  from  the  first. 
And  now  a  happy  and  complete  confidence  was  already  estab- 
lished between  them. 

As  they  entered  the  kitchen,  I  was  there  with  Granny, 
having  prepared  her  somewhat  for  what  was  to  come.  She 
arose,  tottering  upon  her  feet  and  trembling. 

"  Son  of  my  heart,  Roderick  avick !  "  she  cried ;  anil 
Roderick  took  the  old  woman  in  his  strong  arms  and  clasiied 
her  close,  whilst  the  tears  fell  unheeded  down  his  cheeks. 
Even  the  old  woman's  love  for  Winifred  had  not  been  so 
great  as  this  other  love  wh'ch  she  had  so  long  cherished  in 
her  heart  of  hearts. 

"I  can  not  see  you,  my  boy."  she  whispered;  "but 
beautiful  as  the  Mayflowers  in  the  sun  of  morning  is  your 
coming,  and  gladdening  to  my  old  heart  as  the  first  air  of 
sprmg.  Glory  be  to  God  and  praise  and  thanksgiving  that 
I  have  been  spared  to  see  this  day!" 

Whilst  she  still  spoke  we  heard  a  step  coming  along  the 
stone  passage,  a.d  the  tall  figure  of  Niall  entered  the  room. 
He  advanced  straight  to  Roderick,  and,  to  our  amazement, 
he  bent  the  knee. 

"The  O'Byme  has  come  home  again  I"  he  announce  1 
solenmly.  "The  scion  of  the  younger  branch  does  him 
homage." 

"  What's  that  you're  sayin'  about  the  younger  branch  ?  " 
exclaimed  Granny,  beginning  to  tremble  again.  "  And  who 
are  you  that  talks  so?" 

"I  am  Niall  O'Byrne,  the  uncle  of  Roderick  and  of 
Winifred." 

Winifred  gave  a  cry  of  surprise,  but  poor  Granny  went 
on  with  the  same  trembling  uncertainty: 


1 


ai6 


RODERICK  RETURNS. 


"  And  you've  been  alive  all  this  time  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"You  didn't  take  any  shape?" 

"  Only  that  of  the  mad  schoolmaster,"  Niall  explained, 
with  a  grim  smile. 

"  So  that's  who  he  was,  praise  and  glory  to  God  I "  cried 
the  simple  old  woman.  "  And  I  to  be  afeard  of  him  when 
he'd  come  hauntin'  the  house  at  all  hours  and  goin'  on  with 
his  quare  ways!  But  sure  I  might  have  known — indeed  I 
might ! " 

Granny  had  known  Niall  in  his  younger  days,  before  his 
departure  for  the  East;  but  after  his  mysterious  return  she, 
being  blind,  had  never  been  able  to  recognize  him,  and  he 
had  purposely  kept  her  in  ignorance.  She  had  therefore 
shared  all  the  misgivings  of  the  countryside  in  regard  to  the 
treasure-seeker,  who  from  the  nature  of  his  pursuits  had 
sought  to  conceal  his  identity. 

The  tears  rolled  down  the  old  man's  cheeks  and  he  made 
more  than  one  vain  attempt  to  speak ;  while  Winifred  patted 
his  arm,  saying: 

"  Don't  cry,  dear  Niall — don't  cry  I  We  have  my  father 
back  again." 

At  last,  mastering  his  emotion  by  an  effort,  and  looking 
into  the  handsome    kindly  face  before  him,  Niall  spoke: 

"  I  knelt  to  you  just  now  as  to  the  head  of  our  house,  the 
representative  of  the  elder  branch;  but  I  should  have  knelt 
as  a  penitent." 

"  A  penitent !  "    repeated  Roderick,  in  surprise. 

"  I  deceived  you,  I  caused  you  years  of  suffering!  "  cried 
Niall,  in  a  voice  of  overmastering  agony.  "  But,  oh,  it  was 
my  love  for  you,  for  her,  for  the  old  place,  that  urged  me 
to  it ! " 


RODERICK  RETURNS.  aiy 

"  Such  faults  are  easily  pardoned,"  said  Rmlerick.  believ- 
ing  that  the  old  man  was  laboring  under  some  delusion. 

"Wait  till  you  hear!"  said  Niall,  almost  stcrnlv.  "A 
judge  must  hear  the  offence  before  he  can  pardon.  Twa* 
I  who  wrote  to  you  that  Winifred  was  dead." 

"  YoHf  exclaimed  Roderick,  the  most  unbounded  amaze- 
ment depicted  on  his  face,  an.l  for  a  moment  something  of 
Niall's  own  sternness  clouding  its  good-humor.  "  Why  should 
you  have  done  that  to  me?" 

"  Listen !  "  said  .\iall,  extending  one  hand  as  if  in  sup- 
plication. "  I  heanl  you  had  remarried  in  America,  and  that 
was  a  sad  blow  to  my  hopes  and  dreams.  You  would  never 
come  back.  Even  if  my  plans  succeede.l.  you  would  never 
dwell  m  the  old  place.  And  then  came  the  agonizing  thought 
that  you  would  take  Winifred  away,  and  that  with  me  our 
very  name  would  pass  from  Wicklow.  I  deliberately  de- 
ceived you.  I  withheld  from  Granny  Meehan  the  letter  you 
had  written  her." 

Granny  made  an  exclamation  of  "  God  forgive  you  I  "  For 
she,  too,  had  suffered  from  that  wrong. 

"I  caused  your  letters  to  the  priest  to  miscarry;  I  did 
everythmg,  in  short,  to  cut  you  off  from  communication  with 
this  place.  And  by  hints  which  I  threw  out.  and  vague  mes- 
sages which  I  sent  through  Winifred  to  Mrs.  Meehan,  I  filled 
her  mind  with  a  fear  and  distrust  of  America  and  people  com- 

when  this  lady  first  came  into  this  region!  I  could  have 
kil  ed  ..er  where  she  stood.  I  believed  her  to  be  the  second 
wife  herself  or  some  emissary  from  you  come  to  spy  upon 
us  and  discover  our  secret." 

Roderick  stood  all  this  time,  his  arms  crossed  upon  his 
breast,  a  proud  look  upon  his  face. 


ai8 


RODF.RICK  RETURNS. 


"  And  did  you  think  all  this  of  rne  ?  "  he  uked  at  last — 
"that  I  would  forget  home  and  kindred,  forget  tiie  wife 
who  lies  sleeping  in  Irish  soil,  and,  taking  away  my  child, 
abandon  you  all  forever?  Ah,  Niall,  you  little  knew  me, 
after  all  I" 

"  But  I  had  suffered,  Roderick;  sometimes  my  mind  wan- 
dered, perhaps,  a  little,"  pleaded  the  old  man,  pathetically. 
"  There  was  a  confusion  there ;  and  I  only  knew  that  if 
Winifred  went  away,  you  were  both  lost  to  me  forever." 

Roderick's  face  softened.  His  great  generous  heart 
touched  by  that  appeal,  he  cried  out: 

"  Uncle,  dear  uncle,  let  u'  not  talk  of  forgiveness,  but 
only  of  your  long  years  of  devotion  to  us  all  I  We  will  £,h  'k 
no  more  of  what  is  painful.    Now  all  is  peace  and  joy." 

Father  Owen  entered  just  at  that  moment,  full  of  genial 
rympathy  and  heartfelt,  simple  delight;  and  with  his  coming 
the  reconciliation  was  perfect.  It  took  Winifred  some  time 
indeed  to  understand  her  new  relation  to  *^iall;  but  she  said 
that  in  any  case  she  could  not  love  him  any  better,  though 
she  was  glad  he  belonged  to  the  old  castle  and  the  old  race. 

The  ornaments  from  Niall's  cavern  were  disposed  of  to 
advantage,  and  it  was  a  great  day  when  we  all  went  with 
Roderick  to  the  cavern  of  the  Phoul-a-Phooka  to  examine 
them.  The  gold  was  removed  to  a  bank;  and,  as  Roderick 
had  brought  some  considerable  savings  from  America,  the 
work  of  restoration  on  the  castle  was  begun.  It  was  not, 
of  course,  necessary  or  desirable  that  the  whole  edifice  should 
be  restored  to  its  pristine  splendor;  and  some  of  the  ruin 
remained  in  all  its  picturesqueness  as  a  show  place  for  travel- 
ers. But  the  main  building  was  made  both  habitable  and 
imposing.  By  some  strange  convulsion  of  nature,  the  cavern 
in  which  Niall  had  concealed  his  treasures,  and  where  he  had 


RODERICK  RHTURSS. 


219 


•pent  many  a  lonely  night,  was  destroyed.  The  rocks  fell  in, 
and  then  the  mountain  stream  gushed  through  it,  sweping 
away  all  trace  of  that  singular  abo-le. 

Roderick's  return,  Winifred's  identity  as  heiress  of  the 
O'Byrnes,  and  N'iall's  kinship  with  the  family,  were  publicly 
announced  to  the  village,  all  mysteries  being  at  last  cleared 
up.  But  the  landlord  vuiced  public  sentiment  in  confiding 
to  me  that  the  "  good  people  "  were  surely  mixed  up  in  the 
aflfair,  and  that  it  was  the  removal  of  the  fairy  spell  bewitch- 
ing Niall,  and  perhaps  Winifred,  which  had  made  all  come 
right. 

Roderick  was  from  the  first  the  idol  of  the  peasantry,  to 
whom  he  endeared  himself  in  every  possible  manner.  His 
warm  Irish  nature  had  neve,  grown  cold  by  change  or  vicis- 
situde, and  he  labored  in  a  hundred  ways  to  improve  the 
position  of  his  people.  He  was  still  in  their  eyes  the  hand- 
some an^  high-spirited  lad  who  had  galloped  over  the  country 
on  his  white  horse. 

I  became  a  fixture  at  the  inn ;  though  most  of  my  time 
was  spent  at  the  castle,  where  our  little  circle  was  often 
cheered  by  the  presence  of  Father  Owen.  Niall  at  times  un- 
bent into  positive  geniality;  and  as  we  sat  occasionally  in 
homely  fashion  around  the  kitchen  hearth,  that  Granny  might 
not  be  excluded  from  our  conferences,  and  that  B;  i  ey  and 
Moira  might  draw  near  unchecked,  he  told  us  many  a  strange 
tale  of  his  adventures  as  a  gold-seeker.  Sometimes  he  brought 
us  to  the  Far  East,  relating  his  inquiries  into  the  occult  arts 
or  the  researches  of  alchemists;  and  again  he  led  us,  by 
many  a  devious  path,  through  the  hills  of  his  native  W.cMow 
and  along  the  banks  of  its  streams.  Many  of  his  accounts 
sounded  like  some  fabulous  tale,  a  page  from  an  old  en- 
chanter's book.     Roderick,  who  knew  that  gold,  even  to  the 


220  RODERICK  RETURNS. 

amount  of  ten  thousand  pounds,  had  been  in  former  years 
found  in  Wicklow,  and  that  mines  under  government  control 
had  been  established  there,  was  far  less  surprised  than  the 
rest  of  us  had  been  that  Niall  had  succeeded  in  wresting  a 
certain  amount  of  treasure  from  the  earth. 

And  Winifred  was  never  again  sent  away  to  school.  She 
had  a  governess,  and  she  had  Niall  to  direct  her  studies, 
Roderick  himself  taking  an  interest  in  them.  Her  pranks  are 
still  told  as  of  yore;  for — piousj  good,  exemplary  as  she  is 
in  the  main,  and  ruled  absolutely  by  her  father,  whose  will 
to  her  is  law — she  has  her  outbursts  of  petulance,  and  her 
old  delight  in  playing  a  trick  now  and  again  on  the  unwary; 
or  she  will  mystify  her  nearest  and  dearest  by  indulging  in 
the  unexpected ;  so  that  many  there  are  who  still  know  and 
love  her  as  Wayward  Winifred. 


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DIVINE  GRACE.     A  Series  of  Instructions  arranged  according  to  the  BjJt'™" 

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FOLLOWING   OP   CHRIST.    Thomas  a  Kihpis. 

With  Reflections. 

Without  Resections, 

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*'°"p.,t*®J  THINGS.  THE:    Death,  Judgment.  Heaven,  HeU 
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GENERAL   PRINCIPLES  OP   THE   RELIGIOUS   LIFE.     Ve.heykk.  O.S.B. 

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GLORIES  OP   MARY.     St.  A^phonsus  ds  Liouor,.     2  vols.,  «,'  ,   ' 

Popular  cd.     i  vol.,  '  "**•  '  5o 

GOD  THE  TEACHER  OF  MANKIND.     MiJLLBR.     ,vols.        Per  set  w<  0'   lo 
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^^ofny  lit'*°^-  "**  '=™™''  '"  ""  Sanctification  and   Happing   of 
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its  DS  l^o^u^oa?"  ^AI-VATION  AND  OP    PERFECTION.     St.  ALraoN 

'^'^^rVv.  i"s,  §.5.  "^hj^ut  ?-^-B.Tov-si!^  — S' :  i 

""""n Sa^tll™  ''"'^  CHRIST-CHILD,  a  Collection  of  Poem,  for  th.  Yo^Z 
GUIDE    TO    CONFESSION    AND    COMMUNION.  °  !° 

HANDBOOK  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  RELIGION.  By  R*v.  W.  Wiwbrs,  S  J 
HARMONY  OF  THE  RELIGIOUS  LIFE.  Rev.  H.  J.  H.us,,.  Z' I  1°, 
"^"-SITJ^iJ^rS  l?ur  "*  •'"'^•^ATORy.     Prayers  and  Devotions  in 

«^''^!^.^h^liSSsVi^v^>a^Rro.'>b^£rR^,S'sl.'^•  ^ 

'""I'.^LoJIS^^f^^c^M^u'ricY'""  ""•  =«'"="-  "'  "■'  ""'^  «-      B^ 

HISTORY  OF  THE  MASS.     By  Rev.  J.  O'Bri.n.  „,  °  f° 

HOLY     EUCHARIST.     By   St.  Alphonsus    db    Liouori.     The   Sacriflce     thf 

Sacrament,  and  the  Sacred  Heart  of  Jesus  Christ.   Nov^a  to  the  ffily  ciho« 

HOLY  MASS.     By  Rev.  M.  Mullbr,  C.SS.R.  ?!''  '   " 

HOLY  MASS.     BySt.Al.PHOMsusD«LlouoRl.  «i  ,      . 

HOW  TO  COMPORT  THE  SICK.     Rev.  Jos.  A.  Krbbs,  C.SS.R.  «rt'.  o, 

"°^r™of^^    ™^    '"^'°''-     «>'  »  Dominican  Father.  Pap^'o  .0; 

ILLUSTRATED  PRAYER-BOOK  FOR  CHILDREN.  f  °! 
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INCARNATION,    BIRTH.    AND    INFANLV     OP    JESUS    CHRIST;    or.  tho 
Mysteries  of  Faith.     By  St.  Alphonsus  ob  Liguori.  net  i   as 

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6 


'*'^5iK^l^r/sr'^  WORTHILY  CELEBRATED.  THE.  By  Rev. 
SECRET  np  SANCTITY.    St.  Francis  d.  Sales.  « ,    !  '° 

'"TA^Tf°C^O^N^II¥fo=S.TJ«Rfv''yVA'l5..°''"'^^  °^  ™''  '""AC"- 
^^^iajMA™?"^®  "^  CHRISTIAN  DOCTRINE.  Fmm  the  French  by  M°arv 
SHORT  VISITS  TO  THE  BLESSED  SACRAMENT.     Lasanc  ""'  °  5, 

'"^U^u^fi.  BiSii^gSrm?"EnXS'  '•""^™-  °'  '"^  '^■=^-  *""-  ^f  f^oS 
SOCIALISM    AND    CHRISTIANITY.     By  the   Right   Rev.    W.ll.am    Stang. 

^"'^cllTilBm    S^I  '"'1°.';?^?'    ^l"'!  I'"''  Z"?^"??"    Apnl'a''i"n-     By    Victor 
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SODALISTS'  VADE  MECUM.  "^'  '   '° 

SONGS  AND  SONNETS.     By  Maurice  Francis  Eoak.  ,  L 

®''' G*Mil«"R.™°°  °^  CHRISTIAN  DOCTRINE.  Edited  by  Rt.  Rev.  S. 
SPIRIT  OF  SACRIFICE    THE.  and  the  Life  of  Sacrifice  in  the  Reliaio^'st'ate" 

^'''"on"*''  '^'*""^®  ^°^  HUNGRY  LITTLE  SOULS.     Marv  E.  ^ck*,°i^ 

SPIRITUAL  DESPONDENCY  AND  TEMPTATIONS.     By  Rev.  P.  J   MicheI" 
S.J.     Translated  from  the  French  by  Rev.  F.  P.  Gareschb.  S.J  net     '  ti 

*'"' Wan";.  c1!r '^^®  ^°^  *  ^'^  °*YS'  RETREAT.     Very  Rev.R.  v. 

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STORIES  FOR  FIRST  COMMUNICANTS.     Rev.  J.  A.  Keller    D  D 
STRIVING  AFTER  PERFECTION.     Rev.  Joseph  Bavma  S  J  ,«(    ,  »» 

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TRUE  SPOUSE  OF  JESUS  CHRIST.     By  St.  Alphonsos  de  Liouori.     I'vols 
The  same,  one-volume  edition,  JfJ'  '  '" 

^"".§5e^rJ,rdaVHgel«^B?^e^v°BToTE„8S.B^-'-'  --"•  ^^"T, 
VEST-POCKET  GEMS  OP  DEVO~ION  • 

""o?!I.^^S?h™?o?tF-B^ViL*?B%^Ny;Sp1v^=.?„^;-^^^^^ 

VISITS.  SHORT,  TO  CHS  BLESSED  SACRAMENT.     Lasance.  '  o     ' 

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^"^'tlm'l"f.^,i;    he  BloSK™™..     With  a  Nov_cn.  to  the^Holy  Ohu.t  .nd 

llevotionB  for  Maw.  Ho  y  Communion  etc.     Rev.  r.  A.  Laianci.  ■   "3 

VISITC  TO  THE  M^V  HOLY  SACRAMENT  and  to  the  Bl«.cd  V.^n  Mary. 

By  St.  Al.PlloNSU»  DE  UOUORl.  .  „  .  ,u 

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Cloth,  0.60;  as  copiei, 

JUVENILES, 

ADVENTURES  OP  A  CASKET. 

ADVENTURES  OP  A  FRENCH  CAPTAIN. 

AN  ADVENTURE  WITH  THE  APACHES.     By  Gaeriel  Ferry. 

ANTHONY      A  Tale  of  the  Time  of  Charles  II.  of  England. 

ARMORER  OF  SOLINGEN.     By  William  Hbrchbnbacm. 

AS  TRUE  AS  GOLD.     Mannix. 

BERKLEYS,  THE.     WlouT. 

BERTHA;  or.  Consequences  of  a  Fault. 

BEST  FOOT  FORWARD.     By  Father  FlHM. 

BETTER  PART. 

BISTOURI.    By  A.  Melandri. 

BLACK  LADY  AND  ROBIN  RED  BREAST.     By  Canon  Schmid. 

BLANCHE  DE  MARSILLY. 

BLISSYLVANIA  POST-OFFICE.     By  Marion  Ames  Taooart. 

BOB  OLINK.     Waooaman. 

BOYS  IN  THE  BLOCK.    By  Maurice  F.  Eoam. 

BRIC-A-BRAC  DEALER. 

BUNT  AND  BILL.     Clara  Mulholland. 

BUZZER'S  CHRISTMAS.     By  Mary  T.  Waogaman. 

BY  BRANSCOME  RIVER.     By  Makioh  Ames  Taooart. 

CAKE  AND  THE  EASTER  EGGS.     By  Canon  Schmid. 

CANARY  BIRD.    By  Canon  Schmid. 

CAPTAIN  ROUGEMONT. 

CARROLL  DARE.     By  Marv  T.  Waooaman. 

CASSILDA;  or,  the  Moorish  Princess. 

CATHOLIC  HOME  LIBRARY.     .0  vols.,each,  n» P..W Pink    o  8. 

CLAUDE  LIGHTPOOT;  or,  How  the  I'n.blem  wa.?olv«L     By  Father  F.NH.  o  85 

rOLLEGE  BOY,  A.     By  Anthony  Yorke.    Cloth,  =  °s 

CONVERSATION  ON  HOME  EDUCATION.  <>  45 

COPUS,  REV.,  J.E.,^.J.:  p  S] 

HARRY  fetS^li.  o  85 

SHADOWS  LIFTED.  ,  g, 

ST.  CUTHBERTS.  ! 

TOMPLTNG'S  SUCCESS.     By  Clara  Molholland.  ,.„,..        „ 

KpSeS  of  THE  P.\R1S  COMMUNE.     An  Account  of  th.  Rebgiou.  Per«. 

i:THELRED  PRESTON,  or  the  Adventures  of  a  Newcomer.     By  Father  F«N. 

EVERY-DAY  GIRL.  AN.    By  Mary  C.  Crowlbt.  '  *J 

FATAL  DIAMONDS.    By  B.  C.  Donnelly.  » 


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FINN.  REV.  P.  I.   S.J- 

rilS  FIRST  ANti  LAST  APPEARANCE 

THE  BEST  FOOT  FORWARD. 

THAT  FOOTB    i.L  GAME. 

BTHELRED  1-itESTON. 

CLAUDE  LTr.HTI  OOT. 

HARRY  DfB. 

TOM  PLAYPAIR. 

PERCY  WY»<N 

MOSTLV   BOYS. 
FISHERMAN  £  DAUGHTER. 
FIVE  O'CLOCK  STORIES;  or,  Th.  Old  T.l«i  Told  Agmin.  „  ,, 

'"^?Eo»°''  "^""^  '^^^-  ■^"^'  ■"■'  *•  ^^^^  °<  ^'■»™«-     By  M»UR,.-K 
FREDS  LITTLE  DAUGHTER.     By  Sara  Train..  SyiTH. 
GERTRUDES  EXPERIENCE. 
GODFREY  THE  HERMIT.     By  Canon  Schhid. 
GOLDEN  LILY.  THE.     Hinmon. 

GREAT  CAPTAIN,  THE.     By  Katha.inm  T.  Hinkson. 
-  GREAT-GRANDMOTHERS  SECRET. 

HALDEMAN  CHILDREN,  THE.     By  Marv  E.  Mannix. 

HARRY  DEE;  or.  Working  it  Out.     By  Father  Finn 

HEIR  OP  DREAMS,  AN.     By  Sali.ii  Maroarrt  OUaliiy. 

HER  FATHER'S  RIGHT  HAND, 

HIS  FIRST  AND  LAST  APPEARANCE.     By  Father  Finn 

HOP  BLOSSOMS.     By  Canon  Schmid. 

HOSTAGE  OF  WAR,  A.     By  Mary  G.  Bonestbrl. 

HOW  THEY  WORKED  THEIR  WAY.     By  Maurice  P.  Eoan 

INUNDATION,  THE.     Canon  Schmid. 

JACK  HILDREDTH  AMONG  THE  INDIANS,     i  voU.  each 

JACK  HILDREDTH  ON  THE  NILE.     By  Marion  Ahrs  'taooart 

JACK  O'LANTEKN.    By  Mary  T.  Waooauah. 

JUVENILE  ROUND  TABLE.     Fimt  Series.     Stone,  by  the  Best  Writera 
JUVENILE  ROUND  TABLE.     Second  Series. 
KLONDIKE  PICNIC.     By  Elranor  C.  Donnilly. 

LAMP  OF  THE  SANCTUARY.     By  Cardinal  Wurman.  „  „ 

LEGENDS  OF  THE  HOLY  CHILD  JESUS  fix>m  Many  Lands.     By  A.  Fowl.r 
LITTLE  MISSY.     By  Mary  T.  Waggaiian. 

LOYAL  BLUE  AND  ROYAL  SCARLET.     By  Marion  A.  Taooart 
MADCAP  SET  AT  ST.  ANNE'S.     By  Marion  J.  Brunowb. 
MARCELLE.     A  True  Story. 
MARY  TRACY'S  FORTUNE.     Sadlirr, 
MASTER  FRIDOLIN.     By  Emmy  Gibhrl. 
MILLY  AVELING.    By  Sara  Trainbr  Smith.    Cloth. 
MOSTLY  BOYS.     By  Father  Finn. 
MYSTERIOUS  DOORWAY.     By  Anna  T.  Sadlibr. 
MY  STRANGE  FRIEND.     By  Father  Finn. 
NAN  NOBODY.     By  Mary  T.  Waggaman. 
OLD  CHARLMONTS  SEED-BED.     By  Sara  Trainbr  Smith. 
OLD  ROBBER'S  CASTLE.     By  Canon  Schmid. 
OLIVt  AND  THE  LITTLE  CAKES. 
OUR  BOYS'  AND  GIRLS'  LIBRARY.     14  vols.,  each, 
OUR  YOUNG  FOLKS'  LIBRARY.     10  vols.,  each 
OVERSEER  OP  MAHLBOURG.     By  Canon  Schmid. 
9 


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I'ANCHO  AND  PANCHITA.     By  Ma»v  K.  M*«ni«. 

I'AULINE  AKCIIER.     By  Anna  T.  Saulihii. 

PERCY  WYNN,  of,  Making  *  Boy  i>(  Him.     By  P«ther  Pimm 

IMCKLE  AND  PEPPER.     By  Ella  Ukaine  Uo«.mv. 

PLAYWATER  plot,  the.    By  Ma»»  T.  Waouamam. 

I'RIEST  OF  AUVRIGNY. 

OUEENS  PAGE.     By  Kathammi  Ttnam  Himuon. 

RECRUIT  TOMMY  COLLINS.     BoMMTilL. 

RICHARD;  or,  Devotion  to  tlw  Stuarti. 

UOSE  BUSH.    By  Canon  Schuid. 

SEA-GULLS'  ROCK.    By  J.  dAMDUV. 

'"'*CAVE^'BY-'¥hE    BEECH   FORK.  _„„ 

THE  SHERIFF  OP  THF,  BEECH  FORK. 

THE  RACE  FOR  COPPER  ISLAND. 
STRONG-ARM  OP  AVALON.     By  Ma«t  T.  Waooamam. 
SUMMER  AT  WOODVILLE.     By  Anna  T.  Sadlim. 
TALES  AND  LEGENDS  OF  THE  MIDDLE  AGES.     F.  Dl  Cahila, 
TALES  AND  LEGENDS  SERIES.     3  vols.,  each, 
TALISMAN,  THE.     By  Anna  T.  8adlie«. 
TAMING  OF  POLLY.    By  Ella  Lohaini  Do>»r. 
THAT  FOOTBALL  GAME;    .:i.i  What  Came  of  It.     By  Father  FlNM. 
THREE  GIRLS  AND  EsPr'  l.iLLY  ONE.     By  Marion  A.  Taqoaet. 
THREE  LITTLE  KINGS.     By  Emmy  Gibhel. 
TOM  PLAYFAIR;  or.  Malting  a  Start.     By  Father  Finn. 
TOM'S  LUCKPOT.     By  Maey  T.  Waooamam. 
TREASURE  OF  NUGGET  MOUNTAIN.     By  M.  A.  Taooart. 
TWO  LITTLE  GIRLS.    By  LiUAM  Mace. 
Vli-LAGE  STEEPLE,  THE. 

WAGER  OF  GERALD  OROURKE.  THE.     Pinn-Thiele. 
WINNETOU,  THE  APACHE  KNIGHT.     By  Maeion  Ames  Taooaet. 
WRONGFULLY  ACCUSED.     By  William  Hiechenbacm. 
YOUNG  COLOR  GUARD,  THE.    By  Maey  G.  Bohebteel. 


M<, 


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NOVELS  AND   STORIES. 

■  BUT  THY  LOVE  AND  THY  GRACE."     Rev.  F  J.  Finn,  S.J.  i  00 

CIRCUS  RIDER'S  DAUGHTER,  THE.     A  Novel.     By  P.  v.  Beacebl.         i  is 
CONNOR  D'ARCY'S  STRUGGLES.    A  NoveL     By  Mr..  W.  M.  Bbrtholds. 

CORINNE'S  'VOW.    Waooamam.  ■  '5 

DION  AND  THE  SIBYLS.     A  Classic  Novel.     By  Miles  Keon.     Cloth.       i   2$ 
KABIOLA;  or.  The  Church  of  the  Catacombs.     By  Cardinal  Wiseman.     Popular 
Illustrated  Edition.  ..,""' 

FABIOLA'S  SISTERS.     A  Companion  Volume  to  Cardinal  Wiseman's  "Pab- 
;„i-  ■•     Hw  a   r  ri.ABEB.  t  *5 

<  S5 
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iola."     By  A.  C.  Claeke. 
FATAL  BEACON,  THE.     A  Novel.     By  P.  v.  Beaceel. 
HEARTS  OP  GOLD.     A  Novel.     By  I.  Edhor. 

HEIRESS  OP  CRONENSTEIN.  THE.     By  the  Countess  Habh-Hahm. 
HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER.     Katharine  Tynan  Hinrsom. 
IDOLS;  or.  The  Secrets  of  the  Rue  Chaussee  d'Antin.     Da  Naveey. 
IN  THE  DAYS  OF  KING  HAL.    By  Marion  Ames  Taooart. 
"  KIND  HEARTS  AND  CORONETS."     A  Novel.     By  J.  Harrison. 
LET  NO  MAN  PUT  ASUNDER.    A  Novel.     By  Josephime  Maeie. 


1 


•s 

I   IS 

«  •> 

1  "5 
>   >S 

1    00 

By  Anma 


LINKED  LIVES.    A  Nov.1.    By  L«ly  OiKTausa  DouoiA..  ,  ,« 

MAKCELLA  GRACE.    A  Novol.    By  Rou  Mvlhollano.     lUiutraud  Edition. 
MISS  ERIN.     A  Nov.!.     By  M.  E.  F.ahcii.  !   !| 

MONKS  PARDON,  THE.    A  HUtoriciU  Nov.1  ol  th.  Tim.  of  PhiUp  IV    J 
spMn.'    By  Raoul  Di  Navht.  •^•"-h  «v.  oi 

MR.  BILLY  BUTTONS.    A  Nuv.1.     By  Waltu  Licur 

OUTLAW  OP  CAMARGUE,  THE.     \  Nov.1.     By  A.  01  Uhotni 

PASSING  SHADOWS.     A  Nov.l.     By  Anthohv  Yo«i 

PERE  MONNIERS  WARD.     A  Novel.     By  Waltih  Lichy 

PILKINOTON  HEIR.  THE.     A  Nov.1.     By  Amma  T.  Saolih 

PRODIGALS  DAUGHTER.  THE.     By  Lilia  HAaDlH  BuQO. 

«ED^  WN    OP    ST.    LYPHAR,   THE.     A  Rommnc.  of  L.  Vrad.!.. 

ROMANCE  OF  A  PLAYWRIGHT.     By  Vt..  HaHai  Da  Boamaa.  I  2 

■^"HSoVRMiTf  °J    ■^f'.'^    REPRESENTATIVE    AMERICAN    CATHOLIC 
NOVELISTS.     Complct.  btuncB.  with  Bii>Kniphiei,  Portreiti    ttc.         ,   ,o 

'^"Sm'?*?^'"'.'^  °f  7">P  REPRESENTATIVE  FRENCH  CATHOLIC  NOV- 
ELISTS.    Complete  Stones,  with  Bioaraphics.  Portraitt   etc  .   ,o 

"""E'uSTS.^'ln.XtH^  REPRESENTATIVE  GERMAN  CATHOLIC  NOV- 

*°"cATHoi?cV'iKVft?<5'*?-'''*^,*PI*'f'V^a''»'SH    AND    ENGLIs'h 
Cloth  NOVELISTS.     Complet.   Ston.s,    BiographiM,    Portrait.,  .t" 

'""ByV,AcI"K.o't'.''°°°"'  '^"^-  ^"^  ""■"  '"''"''  °'  ^•''  •**  Ch»ra^ter° 
THAT  MANS  DAUGHTER.     By  HaNav  M.  Ross.  !  " 

TRANSPLANTING   OF   TESSIE.   THE.     By  MAav  T.  Waooaman  o  (to 

TRUE  STORY  OP  MASTER  GERARD.  THE.  By  Anna  T.  SADLiaa.  ,  „ 
UNRAVELING  OF  A  TANGLE.  THE.  A  Nov.1.  By  MAaiON  A.  TAUOAar  .  j, 
VOCATION  OF  EDWARD  CONWAY.  A  Novel.  By  MAuaica  F  Boan  i  >i 
WOMAN  OP  FORTUNE,  A.     By  Christian  RaiD.  '  ,  ,, 

WORLD  WELL  LOST.     By  EsTHaa  RoaaarsoN.  o  i$ 


LIVES   AND  HISTORIES. 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OP  ST.  IGNATIUS  LOYOLA.    Edited  by  R«v.  F.  F    X 

U  L^ONOK.      Qoth,  il**     f 

BIBLE  STORIES  FOR  LITTLE  CHILDREN.     Paper,  o  lo;  doth  '  o  !o 

CHURCH  HISTORY.     BusmotR.  '  °  " 

"'^IwlSpN*''",'^    ECCLESIASTICA    quam    Hinoria,    seriam    Solidamqu. 

Operam  Navantibus,  Accommodavit  Guil.  Stano,  D.D.  ntlim 

HISTORY  OF  THE  CATHOLIC  CHURCH.     Bauaca.     a  vol..  «('  ,  oo 

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LETTERS  OF  ST,  ALPHONSUS  LIGUORI.  By  Rev.  EuoaNa  Grihw  c'sS  R 
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LIFE  AND  LIFE-WORK  OF  MOTHER  THEODORE  GUERIN  Found^  of 
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LIFE  OF  CHRIST.     Illustrated.     By  Father  M.  v.  CoCHau.  "*'!!< 

LIFE  OF  PR.  FRANCIS  POILVACHE.  C.SS.R.     Paper.  »«   o  lo 

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tine.     By  Rev.  Thomas  Wbubmh,  O.S.A.  met,  i   50 

LIFE  OF  ST.  ANTHONY.     Wakd.     llluMntcd.  o  )] 

),1FB  OF  ST.  CATHARINE  OF  SIENNA.     By  BoWAao  L.  AfHI,  M.O.     I  so 
LIFE  OF  ST.  CUARB  OF  MONTBPALCO.     Loch,  Q.8.A.  ml,  •  75 

LIFB  OF  MLLB.  LB  ORAS.  ««,  1  as 

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LIFB  OP  THE  BLB88BD  VIRGIN.     lUuMnWd.    By  Rav.  B.  RoMKM,  O.8.B. 

I  't 
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OUR  LADY  OF  GOOD  COlJ.NSBL  IN  GENAZZANO.     A  Hutory  of  that  An- 
cient Sanctuary.     By  Ann!  R.  Bbnnbtt-Gladbtons.  o  75 
OUTLINES  OF  JEWISH  HISTORY,  Prom  Abraham  to  Our  Lord.     Rev.  P.   B. 
GlciOT.  S.S.                                                                                                     ntt,  1   so 
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Cloth.                                                                                                      ft#f,  I  50 
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THEOLOGY,   LITURGY,  SERMONS,  SCIENCE,  AND 
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of  Green  Bay.  tut,  i   75 

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ORlscol.l.,  S.T.L.  tut,  I   50 

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By  Rev.  PkANCii  E.  Oc.ioT,  S.S.     Cloth.  ov,i»iri^mi». 

GOD  KNOWABLB  AND  KNOWN. 


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HUNOLTS  SHORT  SERMONS,     s  vol..,  „,,'  ,„  „„ 

INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  STUDY  OP  THE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES.    'cio.,t. 

INTRODUCTION   TO  THE  STUDY  OP  THE  OLD  TESTAMENT,  "vol.    L 
JESUS  LIVING  IN  THE  PRIEST.     Millit-Btini.  Zt'  I  II 

'^'TojN"JcJSfN,!?§."°.''vir  ™=   •'°"''-      «—     Tr«,.>..ed_byRev 
LENTEN  SER.MONS.     Edited  by  AnotHTlNB  Wl«Tli.  O.S.B. 
LIBER    STATUS    ANIMARUM:     or.    P«riA    Cen.u.     Book 
Htl,  0.3S;  half  leather, 

"°"lCAL'''lURispifuDE5?F''^?„''^^''  PRACTICE,  THE  BASIS  OPMEli: 
'CAL  JURlbPRUDENCE.  By  Rev.  Charlm  Coppins,  S.J,  Protf«.,r 
of  Medical  Jun.prudence  in  the^ohn  A.  Crewhton  Medical  ColUge,  Omaha. 
Neb.;  Author  of  Text-book,  in  Meuphy«c.,  Ethics,  etc.  ml    i  so 

NATURAL  LAW  AND  LEGAL  PRACTICE.     Holaind,  S.J.  ml    1   7. 

NEVy  AND  OLD  SERMONS  A  Repertory  of  Catholic  Pulpit  Eloquence.'  Ed- 
ited by  Rev.  Auou.tini  Wirth,  O.S.B.     8  vol...  Htl    1 0  00 

OUTLINES  OF  DOGMATIC  THEOLOGY.  By  Rev.  Sylvi.te.  Jos.  h'untir 
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OUTLINES  OP  JEWISH  HISTORY,  from  Abraham  to  Our  Lord.     By  Rev 

Francis  E.  Oioot,  S,S.  ^J    ,   ,0 

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PASTORAL  THEOLOGY.     By  Rev.  Wm.  Stano,  D.D.  ml    i   co 

PENANCE,  SERMONS  ON.     By  Rev,  Francis  Hunolt,  S.J.     Translated  by 

Rev.  John  Allim.     a  vols..  ml    <  00 

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by  Rev.  John  Allbn,  D.D.     a  vols., 
PEW-RENT  RECEIPT  BOJK. 
PHILOSOPHIA,  DE,  MORALI.     Russo. 
POLITICAL  AND  MORAL  ESSAYS.     Rickabv,  S.J. 
PRAXIS    SYNODALIS.     "' 

brandae. 


s  00 
ml,  a  00 
Pcclin    Edilicn. 


Manuale    Synodi    Diocesanae 
13 


Translated 
ntt.  5  00 
i*tt,  I  00 
fut,  »  00 
ntt,  I  so 
Provincialis  Cele- 
ntt,  o  60 


REGISTRUM  BAPTISMORUM.  ««.  J  S« 

REGISTRUM  MATRIMONIORUM.  «<•  3  "> 

RELATION  OF  EXPERIMENTAL  PSYCHOLOGY  TO  PHILOSOPHY.    Mgr 

DK  MIRCIER.  ,  _  •        " 

BiTllAIE  COMPENDIOSUH   mt  Oido  Adminiitnndi  qujedam   Sacratnenu 

edito  dwumptas.  "^'      "^ 

tOSARY,  SERMONS  ON  THE  MOST  HOLY.    PmiHOfc  r*'  '^° 

SACRED  HEART.  SIX  SERMONS  ON  DEVOTION  TO  THE.     By  Rev.  l>^ 

E.  BlBRlAUU.  »».   o   uu 

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Uted  by  Rev.  John  Allbn.     2  vols.,  ,      _      „     „        „    „  '  ' 

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Current  Events  :    Important  happenings  JescriheJ  witli  pen  anj  pictures 
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